


The Lesser Evil

by impalaloompa



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: All the hecking feels, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon-Typical Violence, Drunk!Jaskier, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt is an idiot, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Geraskier, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pirate AU, Slavery, Smut, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, desciption of injury, era typical racism, fluff with a good dose of angst, he ignores his feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 78,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24183118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalaloompa/pseuds/impalaloompa
Summary: 1674 and piracy is rife throughout the Caribbean. Plenty of work for a Pirate Hunter such as Geralt. But when he takes a contract to hunt down a pirate captain who is interfering with important trade, a harsh truth arrises that will question his morals and he will be forced to choose between two evils, and risk the one thing he never thought he would find. Love.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 578
Kudos: 622
Collections: The Witcher Alternate Universes





	1. The Contract

**Author's Note:**

> so this is my geraskier pirate!au
> 
> comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!!

The Governor of Havana sat quietly behind his desk, thumbing his temples as he listened to the other men in his office bicker. 

He was seriously considering calling the servant back in to refill his goblet but remembered what his wife had told him about excessive drinking before noon, so he refrained from the urge. 

The sun spilling through the tall paned windows cast a bright haze over the small room and he narrowed his eyes against the irritation. The headache brewing behind his eyes was not contributing well to his humour and he was looking forward to shutting himself away in a dark room to try and sleep it off. 

But first he had to deal with the problem presented to him by the three Lords arguing over a map of the archipelago splayed on a table in the middle of the room. A problem which he already had a solution to but seeing as the solution was yet to arrive, he had resigned himself to hear out the other men’s suggestions. A mistake on his behalf he now realised. Disagreement lead to slander which lead to the heated debate now being practically shouted between the Lords.

“It doesn’t matter if we change the trade routes. The ships get hit regardless.”

“But if they came in from the south they may slip past-“

“And what do you know? Ever Captained a ship? No? Well shut up you whoreson.”

The Governor slammed his goblet on his desk and the three Lords jumped, snapping their attention to him. Shame reddened their faces as if they had forgotten he was even there.

“Apologies Governor Foltest, we only meant-“

“I gave you all your chance to provide something useful to solve our current predicament but seeing as how you fools can’t see past your own petty differences, I will now share with you how I am going to resolve the problem,” Foltest narrowed his eyes at them.

The three Lords bundled together like scolded children, waiting respectfully for the Governor’s plan.

“I have hired a Pirate Hunter,” Foltest leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

“But sir, we’ve tried that before,” one of the Lords interjected, “And they’ve all either turned up dead or gone missing.”

“This one is different. Not like the other scoundrels and vagabonds that have failed us in the past. This one hales from the Brotherhood of the Wolf.”

“A Wolf?” another Lord squeaked, eyebrows shooting up in shock.

“The White Wolf they call him,” Foltest nodded.

“But sir, the Wolves are ruthless. Savage. They don’t-“

“Which is exactly why we need him. His brand of Pirate Hunter is the only thing we haven’t yet tried, and they say he has never missed a target.”

“He can’t have come cheap sir,” the third Lord worried his lower lip.

“No,” Foltest agreed, “A loan from the Crown, so don’t you worry about your own coffers my Lord.”

The sneer in his voice made the Lord recoil slightly.

“The Hunter asked for half upfront and then the rest once the job is done. Once trade picks back up the loan will be repaid and the profit will flourish,” the Governor grunted in satisfaction.

None of the Lords argued with him. His plan made sense. But the apprehension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.

There came a sharp knock at the door and a servant popped their head round at Foltest’s beckon.

“Your guest has arrived sir,” the servant warbled.

“Send him in,” the Governor rose to his feet.

The man that walked into the room certainly matched Foltest’s expectations.

The Hunter was tall. Broad. Silver white hair tide back loosely and strange amber eyes that seemed to glow in the bright room. He wore a leather studded jerkin and armour pads across his shoulders and down his arms, giving him more a look that resembled a knight from legend than the usual garments of a Pirate Hunter. There was a long sword strapped to his back and at his hip sat a very elegant pistol. 

“Greetings,” Foltest dipped his head, stepping out from behind his desk and moving to stand with the other Lords, “Thank you for coming so swiftly.”

“Hm,” the Hunter grunted, studying them all with mild interest.

The three Lords shuffled slightly, subtly positioning the Governor between them and the Pirate Hunter.

“Your reputation precedes you,” Foltest said tightly. He had noticed the shift from the Lords, clearly as had the Hunter, and reminded himself to punish them later, “Is there a name I can call you by?”

The Pirate Hunter seemed to contemplate this a moment before saying, “Geralt.”

The man’s voice was deep and almost unpleasant.

“Geralt,” the Governor tucked his hands behind his back, “You know why you are here?”

“I’m assuming its not to tend to your gardens,” Geralt folded his arms across his chest.

“Indeed,” Foltest clenched his jaw, forcing himself to forgive the insolence on account of his currently needing the Hunter, “We have a pirate problem. We need you to eliminate that problem.”

Geralt didn’t respond. Didn’t even move. He just stood. Stoic, unblinking, unnerving, waiting for the terms of his contract.

Foltest cleared his throat and waved his hand absently over the map on the table.

“For months now a particular rabble of pirates has been interrupting our trade. Attacking our ships and raiding trading posts,” the Governor growled, “The wealth and prosperity of these islands depends on that trade. If there is no money coming in the common folk suffer.”

The Hunter tilted his head slightly, but it was the only sign that he was actually listening.

“Their Captain is a particularly clever and ruthless man. He has evaded or escaped every attempt at capture and somehow knows the trade routes before even we do. We need you to take him out and restore peace to the archipelago. And, we are willing to add to your payment if you can bring me his head,” Foltest leered.

“Information about the Captain,” it wasn’t a question, it was a demand and Foltest found himself taking a strong dislike to the Hunter.

“Julian Pankratz. Captain of The Lark. A crew of maybe about fifteen men. Don’t underestimate him. Each of his crew are loyal to a fault and would rather die than betray their Captain,” the Governor scowled at nothing in particular.

“Any idea where I might find him? The Caribbean is a big place,” Geralt asked with an air of nonchalance. 

Foltest bared his teeth in the beginnings of a snarl. Once this was all over, he was going to teach this Hunter a modicum of respect.

“They frequent a tavern in Nassau. ‘The Mermaid’s Pearl’ I believe it’s called. That’s the most likely place you’ll find him,” the Governor turned away from the Hunter, a clear dismissal, but Geralt didn’t move.

He blinked slowly at Foltest.

“So, if you know his name, his ship, the tavern he frequents, why hasn’t he been dealt with before?” Geralt grumbled.

“We’ve tried,” piped up one of the Lords, “but he gets away every time. We think… we think he might even have an informant.”

“There are no spies among the King’s men,” Foltest snapped.

“Clearly there are,” Geralt mused.

Before Foltest could respond, one of the other Lords cut in.

“How do you intend to stop him? As I understand it, you operate alone. No ship. No crew. Not like a normal Pirate Hunter.”

A glint appeared in those amber eyes.

“I have my methods. I do not ask or interfere with your business. You will leave me to mine,” the Hunter turned to face Foltest, “and the upfront payment?”

“Yes, yes,” the Governor waved him away irritably, “Speak to my man servant. He will sort you out. Now please. Go and do what you’ve been hired to.”

The Pirate Hunter dropped his arms to his sides, grunted, then left.

Foltest thumbed his temples again, the headache building.

“Let’s hope he finishes the job quickly. I don’t want to have to deal with that sonofabitch any longer than absolutely necessary,” he stomped his way back behind his desk and flomped down in the chair. He lifted his empty goblet towards the Lords, “Here’s to Julian Pankratz. May his death be bloody and painful.”


	2. The Target

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!

Getting passage on a ship bound for Nassau had been easy enough. The island of New Providence was renowned for its leniency towards pirates and it wasn’t long before he found a rag-tag looking crew with its port for a destination. 

He had bribed the ship’s Captain with coin and had tucked himself away on one of the lower decks for the majority of the voyage. 

Before setting off, he had managed to corner one of the Lords from the Governor’s office outside of the manor house but the Lord hadn’t been able to give him much more than Foltest had. It seemed very little was actually known about this Captain Julian Pankratz. A minor inconvenience. He had taken contracts before with even less information. It just meant he had no idea what to expect so tried to ready himself for anything. 

The hard part, well, no not the hard part, the tedious part, would be waiting around in Nassau for the crew of The Lark to show up. It could be days, weeks, even months before they came back but Geralt knew how to spend his time. He could gather information. A drunk pirate is a loud pirate and they often talk with loose tongues. Whores in brothels could be bribed with coin. Merchants usually only required flattery and mild interest in their wares. Harbour Masters were a little trickier but again, a coin or two goes a long way. If he could get close to the Governor of Nassau, he might be able to manipulate the conversation enough to learn something useful. Even the townsfolk would have information he could intimidate out of them. No loyalty amongst thieves. But he would have to be careful. If he pushed too hard from any one of the potential sources of information, his presence and profession would be blabbed, and he could scare away his target.

It was all part of the hunt. Where your average Pirate Hunter would have a ship and a crew and usually engage their targets in an outright confrontation, Geralt had been trained to infiltrate and assassinate. It caused less casualties and even though that wouldn’t have particularly bothered him, subtlety was better for his reputation. There was an art to the hunt that he took pride in. He was good at it. He enjoyed it. The stalk of the hunt, the toying with the prey, the satisfaction of a job well done. Plus, the coin was good. He definitely couldn’t complain about that.

He meditated. The best way to put him in the right mindset for the hunt. Allowing the surge of the sea and the hollering of the crew to wash over him and focus his energies on what was to come.

When the shout came from the quarter deck and the ship lurched as it was guided into port, Geralt rose from his dark corner and climbed the steps towards the sky.  
The sun hit him first. Its bright heat forcing him to blink his eyes into focus after so long in the gloom of the vessel. The smell hit him next. The sharp tang of salt in the air, rotting seaweed, and the unmistakable aroma of smoked fish. 

He wove between the crew who were bustling about, getting ready to off load any cargo, grunted his thanks to the Captain and marched down the gangplank. He paused on the jetty a moment, trying to get his bearings. It had been a while since he had last been in Nassau.

The harbour was crammed with ships and boats of all sizes. Boxes, barrels and sacks were being loaded and unloaded. The Harbour Master was in a shouting match with a gnarly looking man about some unpaid docking fee. The crews of various ships were milling about, pretending to look busy as to avoid any actual work. Dotted among the crowd was the occasional whore, trying to entice the sailors into their beds. And all complimented by the crying of gulls overhead. 

The town of Nassau spilled out from the harbour. Ramshackle huts and lean-to’s, blending into sturdy wooden dwellings and market buildings, blending into the stone of the wealthier town centre. The odd palm tree and plumes of ferns broke up the haphazard layout of the buildings bracketing both sides of the compact sand roads. Dominating the east side of the town stood the fort. A large square structure with enough firepower to blast an armada out of the bay. The pirates controlled it, so the King’s men left the island alone. Trade prospered here, and the money often made its way back into ‘civilized society’ so there was currently no real urgency to reclaim the island. A situation that suited the pirates of the archipelago.

Geralt took off along the docks, shouldering his way through the mass of people. He nearly crashed into a woman carrying a crate of glass bottles as she practically jumped in front of him. He ignored her scorn and kept his focus on reaching dry land. 

He passed by a succession of brigs anchored to the dock but halted by the last one. Its name plaque had caught his attention. The Lark. Luck was with him today. He gave the ship a quick once over. Not the most elegant brig he had ever seen. Modest in its fixtures. The dark brown paint on the hull was flaking and in desperate need of touching up. The sails, although folded up, looked fairly new and the gun ports looked at if they had just been refitted too. From what he could see from this angle, there were perhaps one or two crew members on the deck. The majority must be at the tavern then.

Rarely in his profession was finding a ship that easy. Often, he had to track the vessel for weeks before even glimpsing the target. But who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth?

He had a vague recollection of where the tavern was and strode of into the town to find it.

The Mermaid’s Pearl was a brightly painted wooden building with a flashy sign and the bust of a mermaid hung above the door. The smell of alcohol wafted around him as he got close, as did the lilting of music coming from the open windows. 

It was just after noon and, being a town of pirates, the tavern was as packed as he expected it to be. Rambunctious chatter, the clash of tankards, the stench of sweat and ale. The odd whore lounging in the lap of some half-drunk man. The rattle of coin as a game of cards was bet on in the corner. And the strumming of a lute coming from somewhere among the merry patrons.

Geralt ordered a beer from the barkeep and moseyed his way over to a table he had spotted in the far corner. Keeping his head low as not to attract attention, he settled down and began searching the pirates with keen eyes. 

One of these men was the Captain he was hunting. 

A particularly squat and burly man who was laughing a few tables over caught his eye. He looked weather beaten and a long thin scar tracked down his cheek and onto his neck. The men around him seemed to be giving him their full attention. A potential candidate. Another man by the bar drew his interest. He was tall, lean, hard muscled, knocking back shot after shot of something that made him grimace with each mouthful. The men around him were giving him a wide berth, out of respect or fear Geralt couldn’t quite tell. Another potential candidate. 

As he slowly picked out a few more possible targets, he found his focus being distracted by the young man playing the lute who he could now see through the crowd. 

And the man was young. No more than twenty. Full of a youthful zeal as he bounced between the patrons gathered around him, listening to his ridiculous song about made up monsters. All blue eyes and dazzling smiles and dark windswept looking hair. His long blue coat that stopped at his knees swirled about him as he sang. Under the coat he wore a grey waistcoat and an embroidered cotton shirt. His high-waisted brown breeches were tucked into well-worn leather boots. 

Geralt grunted, forcing himself to sip his beer and trying to get back to work, but he couldn’t help letting his gaze linger on the musician from time to time. There was something about that animated charm, that confidence. Geralt couldn’t shake it. 

Mercifully, the singing stopped but then the young man was suddenly beside him, leaning nonchalantly against a pillar with a lazy smile on his face and intrigue in his eyes.

“I love how you just…sit in the corner and brood,” he said, dragging his eyes over Geralt as if trying to undress him.

Geralt just growled deep in his throat.

“I came to drink alone,” he dismissed. 

Unfortunately, the musician flumped into the chair opposite him.

“I saw you watching me,” he drawled, “So, any notes? You must have a review for me, three words or less.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes at him, “It was stupid.”

The man barked out a laugh.

“Eloquently critiqued,” he rolled his eyes, fidgeting with his fingers as he leaned on the table, “none of the others seemed to mind. Then again, most don’t appreciate the finer qualities of my craft.”

“Hm.”

Geralt took a long drink of his beer. There was a pout of disappointment, but the young man quickly composed himself again and held out his hand.

“Jaskier,” he grinned.

Geralt looked at the offered hand a moment then flicked his gaze away, lifting his tankard to his lips again.

“Right. Good,” Jaskier’s hand fell back to the table but he still wasn’t deterred, “You know, you remind me of someone, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Geralt was too busy deliberately not paying him any attention so he missed the flash in those blue eyes.

“Come on,” Jaskier half whined, “It’s not every day you meet a tall mysterious stranger intent on eyeballing every man in the room. Are you looking for someone?”

Geralt stiffened slightly. He was aware of some of the patrons around him not so subtly listening to their conversation. He stood, abandoning his tankard and stalked away, swiftly exiting the tavern and filling his lungs with the salty air. 

Okay, new plan. Go to The Lark and wait for the Captain there.

As he set off back towards the docks, he heard the patter of feet behind him and his stomach dropped.

“Need a hand? I’ve got two. One for each of the devil’s horns, so to speak,” Jaskier caught up to him and fell into step by his side.

Geralt’s hand hovered habitually over his pistol. 

“Look, whatever or whoever you’re looking for in Nassau maybe I can help? I know almost everyone around here so it wouldn’t be any trouble,” Jaskier gesticulated wildly as he spoke, occasionally readjusting his lute strap as it slipped off his shoulder.

The urge to punch him surged through Geralt but he forced himself to hold back. There were too many witnesses for one, the streets were busy in the early afternoon. And anyway, hurting the young man out of anger wasn’t fair, even if said young man was annoying the shit out of him.

Instead, he continued to ignore Jaskier as he made his way onto the jetty, hoping that the musician would get the hint and fuck off. Jaskier continued to babble on about God knows what, still hovering around him like a pesky fly.

Geralt wasn’t quite sure what to do. This was a very unfamiliar situation. No one ever paid him any attention as he moved from place to place but for some reason this idiot had latched onto him and his loud flamboyance was turning every head they walked past. Maybe he should have just punched him. Might have scared him away. 

Well, he thought to himself, I’ll be rid of him soon. He had spotted the gangplank propped against The Lark and started up it. He smirked with satisfaction when Jaskier paused at the bottom, a confused frown creasing his young face but then to Geralt’s astonishment and complete dismay, Jaskier hopped up the gangplank and joined him on the deck.

Before Geralt could respond, a lanky deckhand who was checking the knots at the bottom of the main mast stood to attention and greeted Jaskier with a nod.

“Captain,” the deckhand crooned.

“Ben,” Jaskier beamed at him, handing him his lute, “Take this to my cabin please. It appears I have a guest.”

Well fuck.

Geralt stared at Jaskier.

“You?” he grumbled, disbelief tainting his tone, “You’re Captain Julian Pankratz?”

“Oh please,” Jaskier scoffed, “Julian was my father. Jaskier will do fine.”

When preparing for the unexpected one has to allow for, well, the unexpected. But the fact that this man in front of him was the pirate scourge that had been interfering with important trade just didn’t seem real. He was the complete opposite of what you would expect for a hardened pirate Captain. And for the first time in his career, Geralt felt the tiniest inkling of reservation.

“Well tall and mysterious, what can I do you for?” Jaskier asked pleasantly, his entire posture open and trusting.

“I uh… want to join your crew,” Geralt struggled to kick his brain into gear.

“Ha! You’ll have to do much better than that,” the Captain folded his arms across his chest, his mouth a thin line but his eyes still dancing with humour, “I’m not an idiot, and you have no idea how many times I’ve heard that from men who want something from me.”

His request had been a test, mostly. There was the off chance it would have worked but Geralt never counted on it, so he went with his back up plan. A truth. Of sorts. Much harder to see through and the first step of gaining his prey’s trust.

“I was sent to find you by some Lord or another. He has questions about your… activities, and I’m supposed to return to him with the answers,” Geralt tried an airy tone but wasn’t sure if Jaskier was taking the bait, “The pay was good, so I thought fuck it. He was a stuck up, self-entitled prick and I honestly don’t give a rat’s ass what you’re up to. I just need some time spent with your crew so I can make up some convincing story to tell him.”

He could practically see the cogs in Jaskier brain turning as he contemplated this. He could tell that Jaskier didn’t completely believe him, but he could also tell that he was curious. He just had to hope his curiosity swayed him.

For the second time that day, luck was with him.

“All Lord’s are the same,” Jaskier smirked after a moment, “Pompous bastards who think they rule the world. Okay tall and mysterious, I’ll give you a chance, because I’m in a good mood, but if you cross me or put any of my crew in danger, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

The tone was light, but the menace and warning were clear. Geralt didn’t doubt for a second that Jaskier meant what he said, and he found himself relaxing back into the knowledge that this was just another pirate scumbag that he was going to put in the ground.

But not yet. If he attacked now it would be very obvious and Jaskier stood a good chance of defending himself. First, he had to gain the man’s trust. You don’t expect betrayal from those closest to you. He needed Jaskier to be blind to the possibility of attack from him and as soon as it happened, he would strike. For now, he would bide his time. Get in with the crew. Play along with the lie he had told. 

“I never did catch your name,” Jaskier quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Geralt.”

“Well Geralt. Welcome aboard The Lark.”


	3. The Quarter Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey folks
> 
> as always, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated.

Within the hour the main deck of The Lark was alive with the preparations to set sail. The sudden departure had been prompted by the arrival of a man who had a note for the Captain. Jaskier had read it with a blank expression and then immediately launched into flight mode. He had sent Ben to round up the rest of the crew and then disappeared into his cabin to chart their course.

Geralt had been put under the charge of a man called Duny who was supposed to be showing him where to put the crates of supplies but the man was prattling on about his wife and his daughter and Geralt was starting to lose his patience under so much one-sided conversation. 

Duny apparently had signed on to the crew after Jaskier saved his life. Payment which Jaskier initially refused but Duny insisted. They had agreed on a year’s service which Duny argued would never repay the debt of his life, but the Captain wouldn’t take him on for any longer on account of the wife and child he was leaving behind.

Geralt stored this information away for now. Adding to the little he knew about Jaskier. It seemed the man was humble and wasn’t without mercy which was definitely something he could use later.

But Duny had kept on talking about it and Geralt had tuned it out as background noise as he humped crates and boxes from the dock to the lower decks.

He didn’t much care about Pervetta and Sorilla or whatever the hell their names were. And he didn’t care that Duny had one month left before he returned to them. The man seemed excited to have a new set of ears to ramble on to, but Geralt had stopped listening about twenty minutes ago.

He could just end this now, march into the Captain’s quarters and shoot the man point blank in the face, but that wasn’t what he had been trained to do, so for now he behaved himself. Besides, if he was being honest with himself, he was rather intrigued by the young man. It couldn’t hurt to learn more about him.

Geralt was taking the last crate from Duny to put it with the others when Jaskier burst from his cabin and darted his eyes over the crew currently on deck. He seemed tense and there was and edge of panic to his movements.

“Anyone seen the Quarter Master?” he snapped, eyes narrowed.

“No Captain, not back yet,” gruffed a heavily tattooed man.

“Fuck,” Jaskier chewed his lower lip then barked orders from stern to prow.

“Seems agitated,” Geralt prodded carefully as he followed Duny back down to the cargo hold.

The man shrugged, placing down the sack of potatoes he had been carrying but not giving him any more.

So, you CAN be quiet, thought Geralt with a grunt.

A slight breeze had picked up that tugged at Geralt’s hair as he emerged from the bowels of the ship and the scent of the sea carried strong. There was a slight flutter of excitement in his gut which he quickly pushed down.

A commotion on the dock side of the ship drew his attention. Some of the crew were trying to hoist a lifeboat up using pullies to secure it onto the side of the ship but one of the ropes had snapped and the boat swung precariously as the sailors tried desperately to haul it back under control.

Without thinking, Geralt lunged for the trailing rope and dug his heels into the deck as he pulled hard. His added strength brought the boat safely to where it was supposed to be and the murmured thanks he received from the crew was drowned out by a female voice ringing from the dock below.

“Nice catch stranger.”

Geralt peered over the side of the ship.

Standing with her hands on her hips and a shit-eating grin on her face stood a woman with brown just-short-of-shoulder-length hair, and sparkling hazel eyes. Her burgundy shirt was rolled up to the elbows and tucked into her form fitting pants which disappeared into knee high boots. There was a brooch pinned to the left of the V of her shirt and a sabre was tucked into her belt at her hip.

“Renfri! About God damn time,” Jaskier yelled as she nimbly climbed the gangplank and waltzed over to him.

“New recruit?” she tilted her head towards Geralt and Jaskier pinched the bridge of his nose.

Geralt stepped forward when beckoned.

“Renfri, Geralt. Geralt, Renfri. My Quarter Master. My newest crew member. We can all get acquainted properly later but first we have to go. And where the fuck have you been?” Jaskier pulled her arm as he marched her away from Geralt and up onto the quarter deck.

She flashed him a lewd wink as she passed him and he heard her say, “Sorry Jask, I was at the brothel. You know I can’t resist Malia and it’s been weeks since I saw her last.”

He missed Jaskier’s response as he was instructed to help tie the lifeboat securely, but he kept an eye on them both as he worked.

Jaskier spoke to her quickly and her grin twitched into a frown. Her hand came up to rest on his shoulder and the touch seemed to calm him slightly. She said something and he nodded. 

Jaskier strode away from her and took up a position behind the helm, a determined look on his face.

Renfri leaned on the balustrade and winked at Geralt before clearing her throat.

“Right you horrible little men,” she shouted. The crew stopped in their tracks, giving her their complete attention. Geralt folded his arms across his chest with an air of surprise. He had to admit, he was impressed with her confident authority, and even more impressed at how deeply the crew’s respect for her ran.

“We’re headed for Kingston,” Renfri bellowed and the men on the deck shared knowing looks, “Get to your positions and make haste. Let’s hope the wind stays behind us.”

A ripple of agreement sounded from the gathered men and they all dispersed quickly. Before Duny found him again, Geralt had counted twelve men. A healthy sized crew but for a ship this big, not as many as he would have expected. At least that meant plenty of beds to choose from.

“Come on,” Duny appeared by his side, “We’ve got a lot of supplies to organise down below.”

“Why Kingston?” Geralt asked, “That’s about seven days sailing am I right?”

“Give or take,” Duny ignored his first question and beckoned Geralt to follow him.

The rustle of sails distracted him as the main sail and fore sail were untied in preparation for catching the wind when they were further out to sea.

Duny rolled his eyes.

“Come find me once the novelty wares off yeah?” he chirped and then descended to the lower decks.

Geralt felt a little foolish but it had been a long time since he had sailed as part of a crew and he had forgotten how things just pulled together before setting off.

He kept out of the way as the crew hurried around him. Watching the water lapping eagerly at the hull as the anchor was lifted and The Lark pushed away from the harbour. Watching the circling gulls overhead calling their farewells as they crawled away from Nassau and into the open ocean. Watching the flick of ropes and the gliding sheets of canvas as the sails were hoisted and fixed into place, gleaming white in the shining sun, billowing slightly until they caught the breeze then filling up and lurching the ship forward. Watching Renfri leap the balustrade with the grace of a cat and help a crew member tie down the cannons on the top deck. Watching Jaskier keep the helm steady, a twinkle in his blue eyes and a smile on his face, much more relaxed now that they were surrounded by the sea. 

Geralt found himself wondering again what had caused the fast flight from Nassau and why they were headed to Kingston.

Before long New Providence was just a dark shape on the horizon and Geralt finally pushed himself from the side of the ship. He looked up the main mast, trying to see the black flag whipping about in the wind at the top but the sun glinted off the sails and he couldn’t make it out.

“It’s a lark,” a voice said by his shoulder, “Swooping over crossbones.”

Geralt hummed deep in his chest as he cast a long glance at Renfri. 

“Interesting choice,” he gruffed.

Renfri shrugged, scratching at the back of her neck absently.

“You should see the figurehead,” she smirked, “I think it looks more like an eagle than a lark but who am I to question the artistic eye of our Captain?”

Geralt looked back as Jaskier who seemed to be singing to himself as he jostled the helm.

“How did you-?”

“Become his Quarter Master? Why? Because I’m a woman?” there was no hint of scorn in her voice, but her hazel eyes did flash dangerously.

“No I-“

She snorted playfully, “I was voted in. When the crew was newly formed.”

“How did you get mixed up with pirates?” Geralt grumbled, folding his arms across his chest.

“Jaskier saved me from a…bad situation,” Renfri echoed his defensive stance, “He’s a good guy, so I followed him.”

He bit his tongue on his next question, not wanting to push too hard yet, and just grunted in response.

“What about you Geralt? How did you get mixed up with pirates?” she placed her hands on her hips.

“Occupational hazard,” he gruffed.

Before Renfri could think too much on his response, her attention was drawn by a short, thin man wrapped in a grungy apron with a potato in one hand and a knife in the other. He stomped over, red in the face.

“Hows am I supposed to cook up nutritious meals when alls I’ve got is bloody potatoes! I asked for carrots. Turnips. Parsnips. But no! Sack after sack of potatoes!” he brandished his knife to articulate his points and Renfri leaned back slightly to avoid the blade once or twice.

“Now, now, I’m sure the rest of the crates haven’t been unpacked yet. Catch you later Geralt” she took the man who Geralt assumed was the ship’s cook by the arm and lead him away.

Geralt frowned after her and sighed.

He took a moment to watch Jaskier again. That was two members of the crew saying the man had saved them. He found himself wondering how Jaskier had managed to get mixed up with pirates, becoming a Captain no less, and at such a young age. It was highly unusual and Geralt had to push away the flicker of whatever emotion was trying to weasel its way into his chest. Jaskier was his pray. Plain and simple. So why did this hunt suddenly seem harder already?

The Pirate Hunter shook himself and tore his gaze away from Jaskier who was fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

Duny was probably wondering where he was and it was best to not get on the wrong side of anyone, especially on his first day. 

As he stepped down into the gloom of the ship he took once last look at the Pirate Captain then disappeared into the deck below.


	4. The Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!

As far as sleeping arrangements go, the hammock he had found himself in for the night wasn’t the worst. Obviously higher-ranking crew members had cabins of their own. The Captain had his separate quarters. And he with the rest of the crew had hunkered down in hammocks suspended from the roof, swaying in motion with the sea. 

He had slept very little, still not used to his surroundings but it had given him the chance to clear his mind and refocus himself on the task before him. He had successfully infiltrated the crew of The Lark. His rapport with Duny was going well and he seemed to have bonded with some of the other sailors over the tasteless potato stew they had been served for dinner. 

“Get used to it,” the cook had grumbled, “meat is rationed so all I gots is bleedin’ potatoes.”

His next plan was to get closer to Renfri. She was sharp and intuitive so he would have to be careful, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t take long to gain her trust. 

As dawn spilled in through the portholes and the men around him started to stir, he swung himself out of his hammock, arched in a delicious stretch and made his way along to the galley.

The grid like layout of passageways and cabins almost induced a claustrophobic feel as he moved swiftly through the dimly lit deck. The odd lantern bracketed to the wooden walls cast a sickly orange glow and, with the overwhelming stench of salt in the heavy air, it was starting to give him a headache.

He poked his head round the door to the kitchen and saw the cook already in the throws of making some sort of gloopy porridge. There were stacks of pots and pans in one corner, a mountain of crates and boxes in the other. The stove was attached to a stooped unit and a barrel sat next to it. A rat scurried across the floor and the cook booted it hard, sending it flying across the galley with a shrill squeak.

Geralt cleared his throat. The man didn’t even turn around.

“No, off you go. You’ll eat with the others. No special treatment,” the cook sing-songed, slapping a wooden spoon into the slop and churning it round the pot.

Geralt wrinkled his nose at the smell and retreated. He sighed as he heard the noises of the ship waking up and hurried up the steps towards the top deck.

Before he reached the fresh air, someone poked him in the ribs.

“Captain’s looking for you,” the man grunted. He was missing a few teeth and the weather lines on his face crinkled as he frowned.

Geralt gave the man a polite nod then ran the last few steps up to the main deck.

The air was cool on the breeze that swept past him. The new morning sun already burning through the clouds formed in the night and shimmering on the surface of the water. Its heat slowly warming the world below.

The sails were flapping in the gentle wind and he could tell that the ship wasn’t moving particularly fast.

He let the sea air fill his lungs and as his head cleared, he looked to the quarter deck. Renfri stood behind the helm. He cast his eyes down to the doors of the Captain’s cabin and started to make his way over when another voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Captain’s looking for you,” it was Ben, the deckhand he had met the other day. He was holding a mop but seemed to be wetter himself than the patch of deck he was supposed to be cleaning.

Geralt grunted and twitched his head towards the Captain’s quarters but Ben shook his head and pointed a thin finger towards the prow of the ship.

The Hunter spun on his heels and marched towards the fore mast. It took him a moment to work out where the Captain was, and he halted when he spotted him.

Jaskier was halfway up the rigging, one hand twined with the rope, the other clutching a spyglass to his eye. His tongue poked out between his lips and his hair was being mussed up by the wind. His blue coat flapped about him as he leaned over the edge of the ship. The spray of the sea not quite reaching him as he adjusted his grip on the rigging and turned slightly to look at Geralt. The sun caught in his eyes turning them a dazzling blue and he smiled. He looked damn near ethereal and Geralt had to swallow the unfamiliar emotion building in his chest. 

“Morning Geralt,” Jaskier chirped as he climbed down the rigging nimbly and landed deftly by Geralt’s side, “Tell me what you see.”

He handed Geralt the spyglass and the Hunter pointed it in the direction the Captain had been looking.

Just on the horizon, Geralt could see black clouds swirling above choppy waters.

“A storm,” he rumbled, handing the spyglass back.

Jaskier pocketed it with a grin.

“We are ahead of it for now and as long as we stay south west we should miss it, but if the wind doesn’t pick up it might catch up to us,” the Captain rubbed his chin thoughtfully then dove back into his coat pocket. He plucked a red apple from its depths and offered it to Geralt, “Paul’s porridge is an… acquired taste.”

Geralt took the apple cautiously.

“You’ll have to eat it eventually but for now,” Jaskier shrugged, “A thank you for your help with the lifeboat yesterday.”

A cloud of confusion settled over Geralt. He was preparing to kill this man. This pirate. This traitor to the crown. But the more Jaskier defied what he expected from a pirate Captain, the more every fibre of his being told him there was something more going on here. 

He bit into the apple to distract himself from his thoughts. It was crisp and sweet. Not realising how hungry he was, he devoured it quickly and Jaskier smirked when he tossed the core overboard.

They stood together for a moment, just watching the waves when Geralt remembered something.

“You wanted to see me?” he grumbled.

“Yes,” Jaskier suddenly snapped to attention and his soft edges hardened.

Geralt grew still, instinctively readying for some sort of fight.

“You lied to me yesterday. About why you wanted onboard my ship,” the young man fixed him with those brilliant blue eyes.

Geralt bristled. 

“Now that I have you away from the port, away from possible…allies, you’re going to tell me the truth,” Jaskier thumbed the hilt of the sword at his hip that Geralt hadn’t noticed until now.

It was a very fine-looking weapon. Ornate and beautifully crafted. Not something a common pirate could afford, unless it was stolen. 

Geralt was wondering how good Jaskier was with the blade when a shout came from high above in the crow’s nest.

“Sails! Sails on the horizon!”

“Shit,” Jaskier whipped out his spyglass and ran over to the port side. 

“British colours,” the man in the crow’s nest bellowed.

“Dammit. They’ve got the wind. They’ll be upon us in the next hour or so,” Jaskier snapped his spyglass shut and pointed a finger at Geralt, “I haven’t forgotten. There is still a conversation to be had here.”

Geralt watched him rush towards Renfri, barking orders as he went.

“Rally the crew, ready the guns, hoist the topsails, prepare to be boarded.”

He took the helm as Renfri sprinted below deck to muster the men to carry out the orders.

It took Geralt a moment to kick into action. He was still reeling from Jaskier’s confrontation, again finding himself in an unfamiliar situation regarding his work.

Governor Foltest had warned him not to underestimate Jaskier. Because of his age, Geralt had done just that and now his carefully planned hunt was unravelling. Maybe he would have to end this sooner than he had wanted to and just hope that his kin back in the Brotherhood never heard of his messy attempt. 

He could picture his mentors face and the thought twisted unpleasantly in his gut.

“Oi! Geralt! Are you helping or what?” Duny shook him back to reality and he joined the man pouring gunpower down the barrel of a cannon.

He could feel the swell of the water under The Lark as Jaskier pointed her away from the advancing ship. There was no chance of out outrunning them. They already had too much gain on them, but Geralt knew a bit about battle tactics for open sea warfare and there were several possibilities Jaskier could follow on from this manoeuvre. Geralt was going to get to see Jaskier in action, get to see what kind of Captain he truly was and how he handled himself. His previous concerns were replaced with anticipation. 

Geralt helped Duny to stack cannon balls and prepare pockets of gunpowder. Lit splints were passed around and Geralt could hear the creaking of gun ports being opened on the deck below. 

The time sped by as they prepared for battle and the British ship was now close enough that Geralt could see it was another brig. Bright white sails gleaming in the sun.

Jaskier shouted more orders as his crew thundered about the deck. Tension tainted the air like acrid smoke.

“Get ready to drop the sails on my order,” the Captain instructed, keeping the helm steady. 

Men scurried up the rigging to loosen the ropes, the only thing keeping the vast sails up was their own strength. 

There was a soft boom and then the water to the starboard side of The Lark sploshed.

“They are within range Captain!” Renfri shouted.

“It was a warning shot. Everybody hold,” Jaskier growled back. He was right. There were no further projectiles as the enemy ship continued to gain on them.

“Hold,” Jaskier grit his teeth. Geralt steadied himself beside Duny who was rolling a cannon ball into his cannon.

“Hold,” the instruction came again. Geralt could see the English flag flapping about above the main topmast of the British brig.

“Now! Drop the sails!” Jaskier bellowed.

The sails came down in a flurry of white and the men perched on the booms below quickly gathered the material and tied it messily into place. At the same time Jaskier spun the helm to port and The Lark swung round at such a speed, Geralt had to grab onto the cannon to keep himself upright.

The British ship sailed straight past them and as soon a they were level Renfri ordered, “Fire!”

A concession of deafening cannon fire ripped through the air and battered the side of the enemy ship. Wood sprayed from its hull and showered the sea with splinters.

“Again,” Renfri yelled and the cannons were reloaded.

Geralt stuffed a pouch of gunpowder down Duny’s cannon and pushed another cannon ball after it.

As the other brig tried to come about, it was bombarded with another stream of heavy fire.

With the wind now blowing in the wrong direction, the British brig’s sails flapped uselessly, and they couldn’t bring the ship any closer. They were also at the wrong angle to return fire effectively.

Clever move, Geralt thought, looking up at the young Captain who was gripping the helm with calm determination.

The Lark shuddered as a cannon ball smashed into its prow and Jaskier gave the order to fire again.

But as Geralt helped Duny to reload his cannon again as strong wind whipped about them and the sky went dark.

Geralt thrust his head up in confusion but as the rain started, his gut clenched. In the heat of the battle, he had forgotten about the storm.


	5. The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading so far! as always comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!

The storm came upon them quickly. Howling wind and lashing rain and rough waves crashing into both ships.

It was a mercy The Lark’s sails were down. The British brig however was still at full sail and the wind bulged in the white material, almost lifting the ship clear of the water as it lurched forwards.

“Brace!” Jaskier screeched as the enemy ship surged towards them.

Geralt threw himself to the deck as The Lark jolted with the impact of the other brig. Sea water sloshed over them and Geralt’s eyes were stinging from the salt. Adrenaline coursed through him and his heart pounded in his ears. This wasn’t the first storm he had been caught up in, and he hoped that it wouldn’t be the last.

Duny slid away from him as The Lark tilted precariously towards the British ship.

“Shit,” he heard Renfri cry out somewhere close by, “Captain! They’re caught on our mast!”

Blinking water from his eyes, Geralt could see that the main top sail of the other brig had come loose and was tangled with their main top mast in a mess of canvas and rope. If it wasn’t dealt with quickly, they would both be dragged down by the storm.

Jaskier left the helm with another sailor and threw himself up the nearest rigging.

“Someone help him!” Renfri struggled to keep her footing as a swell of water buffeted the ship.

It took Geralt about two seconds to realise that he was the closest to the rigging by the main mast. It took him even less time to realise that this was his chance. Who would question the tragic death of their heroic Captain as he fell from a great height trying to free their ship and save them all?

The Pirate Hunter grew steady with focus as he climbed the rigging, ignoring the stinging of the rain and the bite of cold in his fingers.

Jaskier was perched on the rail of the crow’s nest, the only thing keeping him in place was the leg he had tucked around the wood. He was hacking desperately at a section of rope with the knife he had pulled from his boot. He kept shaking his hair out of his eyes as the water plastered it to his face.

“Captain,” Geralt growled from the opposite side of the crow’s nest, just out of reach.

“Geralt!” Jaskier’s surprise flickered with what Geralt initially thought was relief but it then registered as…apprehension.

Geralt blinked at him slowly, amber eyes almost glowing in the shadow of the clouds. He slid the knife from his belt and slashed it through the nearest section of sail. The canvas tore easily but there was a lot of it, and he had to bat loose bits away from him as he worked.

Both ships lurched unpleasantly and Geralt almost dropped his knife as he grabbed the crow’s nest.

“Fuck,” he gulped, staring at the swirling water below.

“We’ve almost got it,” Jaskier grunted, sawing his knife through another knot of rope.

Geralt was closer to him now, but he held back. Waiting for the ship to be free first, he told himself.

Making it look like an accident would be easy. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d pushed someone from a mast either. Jaskier was a similar height to him but smaller in frame, lithe and strong, but he would be helpless against Geralt and his unexpected attack.

“Watch out!” Jaskier yelped as a stray length of rope lashed between them.

Geralt ducked as it whipped over his head, swaying precariously from his position against the mast.

“You okay?” he could barely hear Jaskier over the roar of the wind.

“Yeah,” Geralt shouted back.

The Lark’s mast groaned under the strain and Geralt knew it was only a matter of time before the wood started to splinter. 

A particularly high wave smashed into the ships and Geralt was unbalanced for a moment but caught himself. Jaskier clung desperately to the rope he was trying to cut but the rocking of the ships had knocked his knife from his hand.

“Shit,” he snarled as the blade tumbled into the frothing sea.

Geralt heaved himself over and slotted himself beside Jaskier on the crow’s nest, bringing his own knife up to continue sawing at the fraying hemp.

He was pretty sure he could hear the thundering of Jaskier’s heart as he shuffled back slightly to give Geralt more room.

As the knife cut through the last strands of rope, a terrible ripping noise cracked through the air as the last of the canvas tore under the pressure and then the ships sprung apart like the tension of elastic being cut. 

Geralt clung to the mast but Jaskier lost his hold on the crow’s nest and flailed as he started to fall.

Without thinking, Geralt launched himself towards him and he grabbed the young man’s hand before he could plummet to his death.

Jaskier’s eyes brimmed with fear as Geralt held onto him tightly, his legs swinging over the bottomless black below.

“Geralt!” Jaskier pleaded, reaching up to grab at him with his other hand.

There was a moment when blue eyes met amber and Geralt’s world slammed to a halt. It would be so easy. So, so easy to loosen his grasp of the younger man and watch him slip away. 

“I’ve got you,” he heard himself saying as he hauled Jaskier up into the crow’s nest where they collapsed together, breathing hard.

With the younger man pressed against him, Geralt tried to work out what the fuck had just happened. 

Jaskier let out a string of breathless laughter before slumping back against the mast, eyes closed against the rain.

“Fuck,” he rasped, “That was…that was close. Thanks.”

Geralt stood shakily, gripping onto the railing until his knuckles turned white. The wind whistled in his ears and his gut churned in time with the choppy water still dashing against The Lark’s hull.

What had he just done? 

He had just reacted. His body moving on instinct. But he couldn’t understand that. His instincts were supposed to be telling him to kill this man, yet he had done the complete opposite. Why? What was so special about Jaskier that had him ignoring his years of training? He could hardly fathom it. But he knew now that whatever happened, he was going to work it out. He had to know.

“We should probably go down, wait below deck for the storm to blow itself out,” Jaskier rose on wobbly legs and took a deep breath to steady himself.

Geralt watched him start to climb down the rigging and took a moment to try and quell whatever feeling was threatening to overwhelm him. 

He could see the British ship being carried away by the wind and rolling waves, the destroyed topsail whipping about, catching and tangling with the sail below. He grunted. Not their problem anymore.

Slowly he followed Jaskier back down to the deck, his limbs suddenly stiff with cold and overexertion.

He landed clumsily and a hand on his shoulder steadied him. Their eyes connected and Geralt could only grunt his thanks to the Captain.

“Thank God,” Renfri stumbled over to them, “We’ve tied down the cannons and lowered the port side and starboard anchors. It’ll be a rocky few hours but at least we won’t get thrown further off course.”

“Right,” Jaskier nodded, “Good. Get everyone below deck. It’ll be safer, and dryer.”

“Already on it,” Renfri smiled at him softly.

“What would I do without you?” Jaskier sounded as exhausted as Geralt felt.

The three of them bundled after the rest of the crew disappearing into the bowels of the ship and Renfri closed the hatch behind them.

Even the air here was heavy with the static of the storm and the smell of salt, rain and gunpowder was thick. The lanterns on the walls swung back and forth making the orange light chase shadows across the space. 

All of the crew members were sat or slouched on the floor, against the walls or at the few tables where the crew usually ate together.

Renfri paused at the bottom of the steps as Jaskier sat halfway up them. Geralt stood next to Renfri, water dripping from him and puddling on the floor.

“All accounted for?” Jaskier asked above the general murmur.

“Aye Captain, no souls lost today,” someone called from the back.

“We were lucky,” Jaskier ran a hand through his wet hair, making it stick up at odd angles. 

Renfri crossed her arms over her chest and moved away between the men, speaking quietly and checking for injuries.

Jaskier’s sigh pulled Geralt’s attention to him and he watched the young man lean his head back against the stairs.

Geralt slunk down to perch on the bottom step, a frown set deep into his face.

He listened to the raging of the storm outside, to the creak of the timber as The Lark bore its brunt, to the soft noises of the crew settling in, to the ragged rise and fall of Jaskier’s breathing, to the rapid thrumming of his own heart in his chest. 

“What were the chances of ship to ship combat and a storm hitting in the same morning?” Jaskier hummed, propping himself up slightly to look at Geralt.

“Hm,” Geralt flicked his amber gaze to his hands.

“What next? A kraken?” the Captain huffed, “Now that would make a good Ballad.”

Geralt quirked an eyebrow at him and Jaskier smirked.

“Yeah, that’s right. I write the occasional song,” the young man bumped down a few steps so that he could lean closer to Geralt, “I always loved the idea of becoming a traveling minstrel, but I guess destiny had other plans.”

Geralt found himself being pulled into a conversation and for the first time in his life, he didn’t immediately shut it down.

“So how did you end up a Captain of a pirate ship?” he asked.

Jaskier brushed him off with an absent wave of his hand.

“That’s a long boring story for another time,” he lilted, but Geralt could see the guarded look in those blue eyes.

He knew better than to pry further. After all, he didn’t want people knowing about himself or his past either. But he still couldn’t help the building curiosity settling in his gut.  
Jaskier tried his best to wring the water from his sleeves but gave up and shrugged off his blue coat. He unbuttoned his grey waist coat with nimble fingers and slipped that off too. He was soaked through to the skin but at least he’d dry quicker this way. Geralt watched him roll up the sleeves of his cotton shirt to the elbow and loosen the lacing at the front.

The hunter plucked at his own sodden black shirt then tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.

“I can’t wait for this storm to fuck off so I can thoroughly dry out again,” Jaskier moped.

“Hm,” Geralt agreed.

“If you find yourself coming down with a cold let me know,” Jaskier blinked at him, genuine and concerned, “I don’t have a doctor or medic onboard but Renfri knows a few remedies.”

Guilt stabbed through Geralt and it took him by surprise. In all his years of hunting down pirates, he had never once felt guilty about the hunt. Those men were ruthless, dangerous. They were monsters and deserved what was coming to them. Jaskier was different. The only target he had ever had who didn’t seem to deserve what Geralt was supposed to deliver. Jaskier was still a pirate, still disrupting trade and terrorising the seas, but he was very…human. 

Jaskier was watching him with intelligent eyes as if he could read the turmoil raging through him.

“Geralt…about what I said before the British showed up…” Jaskier bit his lower lip.

“Jaskier, I-“

“Just forget about it.”

“What? Why?”

“You saved my life,” the Captain said simply, “it would have been very easy to just let me fall but you didn’t. So, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter?”

The intensity of those blue eyes, the sincerity, the trust. Geralt balked. He didn’t deserve it.

“You made a decision,” Jaskier continued as if sensing his resistance, “And I’m very grateful that you chose me.”

Is that what he had done? Chosen Jaskier? Chosen him over the hunt? His nature? His way of life? Had he betrayed the Brotherhood of the Wolf, his kin, his mentor, just by going back on a contract agreed with his word as his bond? He didn’t know. He didn’t think he could kill Jaskier now even if he wanted to. And he realised in that moment that he didn’t want to. Everything he knew about himself, every ideal and moral he clung onto was spiralling away from him.

He swallowed hard and gave a short nod in acknowledgement to Jaskier’s thanks.

Jaskier flashed him a small smile before hauling himself to his feet and stepping over him so that he could join Renfri.

Geralt watched as the Captain talked to his Quarter Master then share words with his crew. Each man Jaskier spoke to regarded him with the utmost respect and again, Geralt couldn’t believe that someone so young commanded such with his position.

He forced himself to look away and study the grain of the wooden step he was sitting on. 

He had never felt more lost and unsure than he did in that moment and for the first time since leaving the Fort of Ker Morhen all those years ago, he didn’t know what he was going to do.


	6. The Potatoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the support so far! as always, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated.

The storm blew itself out not long after mid-day and The Lark glided through the calmer seas as the remaining wind filled her sails. The crew had set about mopping up the saltwater from the top deck which didn’t take very long as the sun returned, and its unforgiving heat beat down on them. 

Jaskier had returned to the helm, his waistcoat back on and his blue coat slung over the balustrade. His blue eyes were bright, and he sang to himself as he guided his ship through the rolling waves.

With everyone enjoying the afternoon on the top deck, Geralt had decided to…explore the rest of the ship. 

He mainly needed to be alone with his thoughts, but he was also curious about what kind of goods Captain Julian Pankratz was stealing from the trade ships. When he had been down in the cargo hold with Duny the other day he hadn’t seen anything obvious. No sacks of sugar or barrels of tobacco. No crates of expensive cloth or chests of coin. Maybe they had moved it all on in Nassau, but there was something nagging in the back of his mind that made him want to investigate further. 

As he descended through the ship, he couldn’t help but scold himself again for his moment of weakness this morning. 

He blamed the rush that came with the British attack and then the storm. He had saved Jaskier’s life because he needed to know more about him, he told himself, he needed to not just stop the Captain, but stop the whole crew from interfering with important trade. He needed to control his emotions, remain focused. Stick to his training. It had been beaten into him many years ago that emotions make you weak. As a result, he had closed himself off and repressed what he felt but for some reason, the more time he spent on this damn ship, the harder that was becoming. It didn’t matter though. It didn’t matter that the desire to kill Jaskier had gone. He was a Pirate Hunter. The White Wolf. No one escaped him and he wasn’t about to let this young Captain change that. He had been paid, well, half paid, to do a job. The common folk of the Caribbean were suffering due to the interruption of trade and it was his duty to help them.

At least, that’s what he told himself. 

He didn’t want to acknowledge that tiny seed of doubt that had been growing in him the moment he found out Jaskier was the pirate he had been looking for. So, he ignored it, and pretend that nothing had changed.

The berth deck of The Lark was made up of stores, the magazine, the cargo hold, and a small brig with wrought iron bars. He would start down here then work his way back up to the main deck. 

As he expected, the magazine was stacked high with barrels of gunpower, crates of cannonballs and trunks stuffed with various pistols and ammunition. A rack of swords was bolted to one of the walls, and he was pretty sure that the barrels next to it contained pitch. Clearly prepared for any kind of fight that came their way, he thought.

The stores were organised into different food groups though clearly someone had an obsession with potatoes. Sacks and sacks of them. There were cured meats and flour and a barrel of apples. Biscuits, hard cheese, and probably many other typical foods one would expect to find on a ship hidden by other crates and boxes. 

Neither of these two areas were of particular interest anyway. All fairly standard. It was the cargo hold he wanted to inspect. This is the place he and Duny and a few of the other crewmen had initially taken everything from the dock in Nassau. All of the items had been organised by now and the square hold was strangely barren. Not even a rat scuttled about in here. 

He walked into the space and looked about. The only light came from the lantern by the doorway. It was bone dry and there was a generous amount of straw on the floor. For livestock maybe? But that didn’t make much sense. Not for a pirate ship anyway. He frowned. It didn’t smell dank or musty or damp as one might expect from the bowels of a ship. The only thing he could smell was the faint salt of the sea and the straw. 

Again, he considered the possibility that they had moved everything on at Nassau, but again, there was something off that he couldn’t put his finger on.

He jumped as someone cleared their throat behind him.

Renfri was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across her chest, a bemused expression on her face.

“Find anything interesting?” she raised her eyebrows at him.

“I was just…familiarising myself with the ship,” Geralt grumbled, trying not to let himself burn hot at being caught.

“Uh huh, and I was just picking roses,” she smirked at him.

To his surprise she didn’t murder him on the spot or threaten him or even tell him off. She just sighed and twitched her head, a signal to follow her. 

She led him back up through the ship and to his surprise, towards the galley.

“Jaskier said that you might be snooping,” she hummed, “so he told me to find you a job to keep you busy.”

This time Geralt did flush like a reprimanded child but Renfri had her back to him as she knocked on the door and entered without being told.

“What do yous want?” Paul snapped, hunched over a mound of potatoes that he was messily peeling.

“Brought you someone to help. Curtesy of our Captain,” Renfri rested her hands on her hips.

Paul peered at Geralt.

“The new one?” he rasped, “Getting himself into bother?”

Renfri smirked.

“Well you can tells the Captain I don’t wants no help from the likes of him.”

“Tell him yourself,” Renfri snorted, “but that’s his orders.”

Paul grumbled then conceded.

“Have fun,” Renfri chirped at Geralt as she waltzed past him. 

Geralt stared after her, then looked at the short man with wispy hair and then at the mountain of potatoes.

“Fuck.”

“No use complaining. Captain’s orders. He says you peels potatoes, then you peels potatoes,” the cook sneered.

Geralt almost spat back that the Captain’s orders were to help him not do the work for him, but he bit his tongue, sat down on the rickety stool, picked up the knife and set to work.

He was being punished and the notion made his blood burn hot in his veins. Jaskier wasn’t an idiot, he reminded himself. The Captain had seen through his lie from the start and this was some sort of mind game he was playing. Geralt was sure of it. 

He let his bitterness fuel him as he haphazardly skinned potato after potato and dropped them in the large pot planted by the stool.

“Why you gots white hair?” Paul asked, leaning against the unit.

“Why have you got white hair?” Geralt retorted.

“Because I’m old. But you. You’re not old. Not usual for young ‘uns to haves white hair,” Paul rubbed his bristly chin thoughtfully.

Geralt grunted, tossing another peeled potato into the metal pot by his feet.

“And your eyes are strange,” the cook squinted at him.

Geralt tried to ignore him as question after question tumbled from Paul’s mouth. The man didn’t seem to be looking for answers, he just seemed to be enjoying the sound of his own voice.

It could have been minutes, hours, days that he had been stuck down there peeling fucking potatoes as the cook rambled on, not lifting a finger of his own to help. Geralt was fed up and was about to give Paul a piece of his mind when there came a knock on the door.

Whoever it was waited to be invited in and at the cook’s word the door creaked open.

“Captain,” Paul dipped his head in respect.

Jaskier caught Geralt’s eye and the man had the cheek to wink at him. Geralt felt his jaw clench.

“I’m here to steal back Geralt,” he said pleasantly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his blue coat.

Paul pouted but nodded and Geralt dropped the knife in the pile of potato peel as he rose to his feet.

He strode after Jaskier without a word to the cook, grinding his teeth as he glared daggers at the back of the Captain’s head.

“I hope he wasn’t too rude,” Jaskier had a mild expression on his face but his eyes danced with humour, “Though it does seem he had you doing all the work.”

“You knew he would. That’s why you sent me to him. To keep me busy,” Geralt growled.

“Actually, that was all Renfri’s doing I’m afraid. I sent her to find you, but it was her idea to leave you with Paul for a few hours. I would have come to rescue you sooner, but I was otherwise engaged,” Jaskier glanced back at Geralt and the Hunter knew he was telling the truth.

All the resentment he had been building up fizzled out and he scowled at nothing in particular. 

“When we get to Kingston I am expecting to be given a lead on a trading ship sailing in from the east, then we’ll have some real fun,” there was a hard edge to Jaskier’s tone and Geralt was remined again that this man was in fact a pirate. 

They emerged onto the main deck and Jaskier proceeded to lead him up onto the quarter deck. He thanked the sailor at the helm and took up his position behind it. Geralt watched the man lumber away and folded his arms across his chest.

The setting sun was creeping down towards the horizon. The calm waters glowed gold in its dying light. The wind had eased and the boom of the main sail swung back and forth slightly as if searching for it again.

“I love it when it’s like this,” Jaskier sighed.

“Insipid?” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier scoffed dramatically.

“No, peaceful. Moments like this are far and few between. I try to enjoy them while I can,” Jaskier eyed him with interest, “and good word by the way. Insipid. Might have to steal that for a song.”

“Hm.”

“I don’t know what you were expecting to find in the cargo hold but you could have just asked me about it,” the Captain gave him a pointed look.

“Will you tell me now?”

Jaskier smirked.

“No,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Geralt turned away from him slightly, pretending to be interested in the wispy clouds lingering off in the distance. The last evidence of the storm. 

A thought struck him.

“Nice sword,” he grumbled, indicating the blade at Jaskier’s hip.

“It was my father’s,” the Captain replied tightly, “I wear it as a reminder.”

“A reminder of what?” Geralt blinked at him with curiosity.

“That I'm nothing like him,” Jaskier’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes and even though Geralt wanted to pry further, he knew this wasn’t the time.

Instead he asked, “You know how to use it?”

“Nah, it’s just for decoration,” Jaskier rolled his eyes at him, “Yes I know how to use it. I wouldn’t be alive if I didn’t.”

“No gun though,” Geralt observed.

“Never have carried a pistol. I don’t like the in-personalness of it. If I’m to kill a man I want to see the whites of his eyes first,” Jaskier’s response didn’t actually surprise him.

It told him that Jaskier didn’t kill without reason and he filed that away in things he learned about the man too. 

Geralt ghosted his fingers over his own pistol and decided to reveal something of himself to Jaskier. Something small. Something to help solidify whatever trust he was building with him.

“I uh, I always name my pistol,” he rumbled.

Jaskier looked at him wide eyed. There was no mockery or sneer in his expression, just sincere intrigue. 

“So, what’s that one called?” he pointed to the gun at Geralt’s hip.

“Roach.”

“And the one before that?”

“Roach.”

“And before that?”

“Roach.”

“I see a pattern emerging here,” Jaskier’s lips wobbled in a grin.

Geralt chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering how far to take this. Fuck it. It couldn’t hurt.

“I name them after the horse I had when I was a child,” he frowned, “she was the only friend I had for a long time. Naming the pistols…its silly but it keeps her close.”

“Its not silly,” Jaskier said softly, his gentle blue gaze flicking from him to the open sea.

Geralt shrugged.

There was a moment of silence between them but it didn’t feel awkward or heavy. It felt comfortable. 

Geralt had to force himself to ignore the elevation in his pulse.

“We should be in Kingston in about six days if the wind is kind,” Jaskier thumbed the helm absently, “the Brits and the storm slowed us down a little, but we made good progress this afternoon.”

“Hm.”

“The crew is free to do what they like when we make port, but I want you to accompany me when I meet my contacts in Kingston,” the Captain deliberately didn’t look at him, keeping his eyes forward.

“Why?” Geralt tried to contain the surprise in his voice.

“Because I want to keep my eye on you,” Jaskier’s tone was light, even playful but Geralt didn’t miss the cold flash of his blue eyes.

The Pirate Hunter watched the Pirate Captain carefully as he returned the smile. 

There was so much more going on here than Geralt could have possibly imagined and he was determined to spend the next six days trying to unravel as much of the mystery surrounding Jaskier as he could before facing whatever the hell the Captain had planned when they got to Kingston.


	7. The Spar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and feedback are greatly appreciated :)

The next few days passed rather too quickly for Geralt’s liking. He hadn’t been able to spend as much time as he would have liked in Jaskier’s presence. Duny kept him busy with various jobs around the ship. And Renfri made it her mission to fill his spare time with additional tasks.

He was an expert at bowline knots now and had the technique down for prising barnacles off the hull.

He couldn’t complain really. Everyone pulled their weight. He was part of the crew now and to keep up appearances, he pitched in with the rest of them.

There had been an evening when the rain lashed down and they had all retreated below deck earlier than usual where the Captain had joined them. 

It had been very interesting to watch Jaskier interact with his crew in this casual way. He drank with them, laughed with them, listened to their stories with interest. The mutual respect and fondness were abundantly clear and Geralt realised that Jaskier wasn’t just their Captain, he was their friend too.

Geralt remembered what Foltest had said about the crew’s loyalty to Jaskier. He hadn’t thought much about it at first, but now he understood. Most Pirate Captain’s rule through fear and reputation, he had assumed the same for The Lark. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Renfri had loudly suggested that Jaskier played for them and after feigning humbleness for about 0.2 seconds, Jaskier retrieved his lute with a bright smile and the crew cheered, raising their tankards and bottles and already shouting out requests. 

Jaskier perched on the edge of a table, tongue poking out as he re-tuned his lute, then settled back, fingers hovering over the strings as he decided what to play.

He launched into a ditty about a sailor who fell in love with a mermaid that had the crew laughing and singing along.

Geralt watched from where he leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. 

Jaskier’s nimble fingers danced eloquently across the strings weaving the notes into a jaunty tune. His voice was rich and warm, and as he sang there was a sparkle in his blue eyes.

‘An Ode to Grog’ was next and Jaskier stood on the table for this one, stamping his foot in time with the beat and his enthusiasm was matched by the crew who joined in loudly.

Geralt found his fingers tapping against his arm along with the music and deliberately stilled himself. 

He was relaxed, actually enjoying himself. Even though he wasn’t right in there with the crew, he was still a part of this, and it felt… dammit, it felt good. 

There had been another evening about two days later where the sun was still bright in the sky and the water reflected it like glass. The little to no wind had brought them to a halt so to keep spirits up Renfri had suggested some sparring.

This idea was met with eagerness and the crew assembled on the main deck, creating a messy circle around her.

Renfri had cracked her knuckles and pulled her sword from her belt, quipping and taunting to see who would come to face her first.

Geralt leaned against the fore mast, a slight grin pulling his lips. He could see Jaskier sitting on the balustrade of the quarter deck, swinging his legs back and forth as he watched his crew enjoy themselves.

A tall man, muscular, of African descent, stepped forward to challenge Renfri first. Geralt had been introduced to him as Havi and had learned that he had been with Jaskier from the start. Havi was a freed slave but Geralt could only guess at Jaskier’s involvement in that.

Renfri and Havi circled each other, blades poised. Renfri stepped in first and the crew cheered as the clash of metal on metal rang out.

Renfri was quick on her feet and Geralt was impressed by her fluid skill. Her footwork almost looked like a dance and her nimble attacks and parries looked effortless. She disarmed Havi with a satisfied shout and the man’s sword clattered to the floor.

Winner stays on and it wasn’t long before Renfri had disarmed another three of the crew.

Geralt was tempted to challenge her, but he held back. There was only one person he was interested in putting through his paces and he hoped he would get the opportunity to do so.

Jaskier had taken off his coat and rolled his shirt sleeves up to the elbows. He was fiddling with one of the buttons of his waistcoat. 

The Hunter watched the Captain for a moment before his attention was pulled back to the sparring by Renfri.

“Come on you lot!” she grinned, “It’s almost as if you don’t want to beat me.”

It’s not as if they weren’t trying. None of the men who had faced her had been holding back. They were just no match for Renfri’s speed.

Her eyes rested on Geralt and she quirked her eyebrows at him. The challenge was clear on her face and he sighed.

The crew jeered and laughed and encouraged as he stepped into the ring, drawing his blade from its sheath and anchoring his feet.

He was very aware of Jaskier’s eyes trained on him.

Renfri tried to force him to circle with her but he only shuffled round on the spot, keeping her in view. 

He had the advantage of years of training with the Brotherhood of the Wolf, as well as having watched her for the past hour. 

He saw her lunge coming a mile away and side stepped, not even lifting his blade. Renfri stumbled and quickly corrected herself with a grunt. She sprung around, eyes narrowed as the crew shouted in delight.

Geralt smirked.

He parried her next blow, caught her out with a feign to the left then jumped right into her space. She defended the blow but only just.

“I think you’ve met your match Renfri!” someone called from the circle.

Renfri didn’t allow herself to be distracted. The playful expression on her face had twitched into one of determination. 

Geralt felt the power behind her next attack and he knew that in the heat of battle she would be a formidable foe. He found himself hoping that he would never have to cross swords with her in a real fight, where she was fighting for her life and not just for fun.

He parried the flurry of blows she rained down on him, barely taking a step back, then surged forwards, catching her blade at an angle that tore it from her hand and sent it flying across the deck.

They were both breathing hard from the exertion but Renfri was beaming at him. 

“Gonna have to train harder to keep up with you Geralt,” she grinned.

“You can try,” he quipped back.

Renfri laughed and Geralt found himself giving her a genuine smile.

“Anyone brave enough to take on our new champion?” Renfri bellowed over the whooping crew.

No one seemed particularly eager and Geralt chuckled.

His amber eyes rested on Jaskier for a moment who was sitting rigidly, an unreadable expression on his face.

Renfri followed his gaze and smiled widely.

“Captain?” she invited.

She was met with approval from the crew but Jaskier hesitated a moment. The crew began chanting his name and his whole body slumped as he conceded.

They cheered when he hopped down from the quarter deck, shrugged off his waistcoat and drew the elegant sword from his belt.

Geralt felt the spike in his pulse as the young man strode towards him. 

There was a calculatedness to his movements, hidden just under the mask of confidence. He even gave his crew a cheeky wave before settling into a stance, blade raised and ready, watching Geralt closely.

Geralt plucked at the nape of his own black shirt then twirled his sword nonchalantly.

No one else seemed to realise that there was more at stake here, other than the two men looking at each other. Something unspoken and unclear that Geralt still didn’t fully understand. 

He quickly checked himself as he slowly circled with the Captain. He had to be careful here, restrain himself. He was about to face off with his prey, and he needed to be very careful that he didn’t get carried away.

He blanked out the noise of the crew until the only thing he was focused on was Jaskier. Excitement fluttered in his gut but instead of pushing it away, Geralt chose to let it burn through him. 

Geralt had expected Jaskier to banter as they began their fight. To try and distract him with his clever words and jokes. But Jaskier stayed quiet, focused and collected.

He moved first, sweeping his sword down in a low arc. Jaskier parried, a smirk on his lips and concentration in his eyes. The Captain quickly returned the attack with a ferocity that Geralt wasn’t expecting. He brought his sword up to catch the blow just in time. 

They circled each other again, Jaskier rolling his shoulders and shaking off the tension. Geralt could see that under his composure, Jaskier was nervous. 

He didn’t have time to ponder this however because the young man dashed towards him, spun a half turn at the last moment and forced Geralt to jump back as his blade slashed through the air. Geralt feigned right but Jaskier saw through it, readying for the blow to come from the left. Geralt double stepped which threw Jaskier off and the blow came from the right. Jaskier deflected it but it jarred up his arm throwing off his balance. Geralt tried to take advantage and attacked again but Jaskier recovered and parried the blows in quick succession. 

Jaskier’s foot work was neat and precise. It echoed of the teachings one would receive as a high noble or lord. 

Was Jaskier nobility? Geralt danced around the younger man, their pace picking up now with less time between each attack. It made sense. Jaskier was well spoken and clearly educated. The way he held himself. His sense for slightly finer fashion and the fancy sword he was wielding. Interesting, he thought to himself.

Both men were panting now, beads of sweat forming on their brows. 

Jaskier was good, Geralt had to admit, but it was time to end this.

He took a breath, stepped into Jaskier’s space, driving the man to jump back, twisted his sword with such a force it knocked Jaskier’s from his hand and brought him to his knees. He tilted Jaskier’s chin up with the tip of his blade.

Jaskier was shaking. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, his breathing was ragged, and his fists were clenched. His blue eyes were on fire and there was something dancing in those bright irises as Geralt held him at sword point, looking down at him, something wild and primal and beautiful. 

Something stirred deep in the pit of Geralt’s stomach.

He stepped back, lowering his sword and offering Jaskier his hand. 

The look on Jaskier’s face faltered and he cracked a huge grin, taking Geralt’s hand. The Hunter hauled him to his feet and Jaskier clapped him on the back.

As Geralt let go of the focus, the noise of the crew rang in his ears. 

“That was insane!” Renfri yelled, clapping along with the rest of the crew.

Geralt glanced at Jaskier who was beaming at him.

“Where the hell did you learn that?” he asked.

Geralt shrugged.

“Alright, keep your secrets,” Jaskier shook his head lightly, “but you have to let me train with you sometime.”

Geralt swallowed thickly. He was very tempted to take up the offer.

Amber eyes met blue and Geralt could see nothing but admiration and respect.

He had gone to bed with a warm feeling in his gut that night. He was struggling to work out which emotion to connect it to.

The next morning had brought more rain but the mood on The Lark was high as they were only half a day from Kingston.

Geralt had been roped into helping Duny mop the lower deck. The man was chattering on about his wife and daughter again so Geralt let himself get caught up in his own thoughts.

It took him a moment to realise Duny had asked him something.

“Hm?” he grunted.

“What about you? Tell me about your family,” Duny quirked his head to one side.

Geralt plunged his mop into the bucket, the muscles in his jaw quivering.

“Not much to tell,” he said tightly, then he saw an opportunity so he took it, “We can’t all be of noble stock like our dear Captain.”

“That’s very true,” Duny laughed.

So Jaskier IS a noble. Or at least, he was a noble. Very interesting.

“At least he doesn’t flaunt it,” Duny continued, “I remember working with an insufferable young man who though he was better than everyone because of his noble birth-“  
Geralt stopped listening again. 

How did a noble find himself the Captain of a pirate ship? Jaskier would have had everything. Title, money, influence, land probably. If Geralt wasn’t curious before he definitely was now. 

He dragged his mop across the wooden floor, face furrowed in thought.

Then a call came from higher up.

“Land!”

A chorus of the word rippled through the decks and Duny fixed him with an excited grin.

“Come on,” he chirped, abandoning his mop and rushing up to the main deck.

Geralt followed. 

The misty rain quickly soaked him, but he joined the crew gathered on the deck.

He leaned over the side of the ship with the rest of the men, gazing out across the choppy water at the dark shadow rising up on the horizon. 

“Few more hours,” came Jaskier’s encouragement from his perch halfway up the rigging, rain dripping off his nose, “and we’ll be in Kingston.”

Geralt looked at him for a moment, then back out through the haze of rain at the mass of land in the distance. 

Jamaica, he thought to himself, it’s been a while. He gazed up at the Captain again, blinking water from his eyes. And who knows what you’ve got in store for me this time.


	8. The Lodge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your continued support! As always, feedback and comments are greatly appreciated!!!

Kingston was more built up than Nassau. Its walled harbour was vast, and the tight lattice of streets and alleys wove through the sea of solid stone buildings. Verandas and balconies jutted out into the main streets and what greenery there was grew against the sandy coloured walls. 

Taverns and public houses, brothels and merchants, churches and dwellings, tailors and craftsmen. It was a bustling town of work and trade and grandiose. The streets smelled of rum and tanned leather and fresh bread and sea salt.

The Governor’s manor sat in the centre of the town and was renowned for throwing lavish parties for Kingston’s elite. Tucked safely away behind grand walls, most of the town’s affaires and business were discussed and conducted there, and the grounds also housed the military barracks. 

The British presence was heavily felt. There were Red Coats on nearly every corner. Something that should make a ship full of pirates nervous, but the crew of The Lark knew Kingston well enough to avoid getting into trouble.

With the instruction to return just after dawn, they disembarked the ship and filtered away into the town. All except Jaskier, Geralt and Renfri who shared a destination in the Merchants Quarter. 

Jaskier had charmed the Harbour Master into a reduced docking fee then set off with a cheery wave at the bewildered man.

Geralt still had no idea where they were going but he knew that they were meeting a contact of Jaskier’s. Someone who had information about The Lark’s next target ship. Geralt had never let a hunt go on long enough to learn much about the one he was hunting or how they operated within the cliques of the pirates. But he was starting to build a rounded picture of Jaskier, and he was about to find out how he got his information to interrupt the trade. He wondered absently if Foltest would pay him more if he revealed the location and who the contact was.

They travelled along the coast of the town on the cobblestone road, the harbour on their left, the warehouses and stores and shabby market stalls on their right. The heat of the sun bore down on them and Geralt was glad he was just in his loose black shirt and breeches. Sword still across his back and Roach at his hip of course.

Renfri had tied her hair back in a loose knot and Jaskier had shirked his long blue coat and waistcoat in favour of a light, maroon jerkin. He had left the top few buttons undone so that the laces of his cotton shirt trailed down his chest. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and there seemed to be a spring in his step. After a moment of consideration, he had chosen to leave his lute behind. Strictly business, he had said.

He chattered as they walked. Bantering with Renfri and pointing out landmarks to Geralt until he suddenly veered up a side street and disappeared under an arch in the wall of a tall building.

Renfri invited him to go first and Geralt stepped after the Captain. Then he stopped.

The open courtyard before him was square and enclosed on all sides by the sandy coloured building. He could see the blue sky above and the golden hue of the sun as it slowly sank towards the west. At the back of the courtyard there was a stone staircase against the wall. Each floor of the building was met by an external landing all connected by the stairs. Along each landing were several doors leading into the building. Some were open, some closed. At the bottom of the staircase there seemed to be some sort of desk area and behind it was another slightly more elaborate door. There was a bar set up under a canopy on the left side of the courtyard and multiple tables and chairs sprawled across its centre. It was the people in those chairs and by the bar and going up and down those stairs that really drew Geralt’s attention.

Men, and one or two women, mostly merchants and sailors and probably the odd pirate amongst them, lounged about or drank heartily or chattered and laughed or listened to the group of minstrels in the corner. Weaving among the patrons, sitting on their laps, leading them up and back down the steps, were dozens of scantily clad women, and some not even that. 

Geralt’s eyes narrowed.

A brothel. ‘The Lodge’ according to the sign. Well, if this was how Jaskier liked to do business who was he to judge.

Renfri smirked at him as Jaskier beckoned one of the whores over, spoke to her quietly and she scurried off.

“You sticking around?” the Captain threw over his shoulder at Renfri, “Or are you taking off.”

“I’ll say hi,” Renfri beamed at him and Jaskier rolled his eyes with a grin on his face.

Before Geralt could gather his thoughts properly to ask what the fuck they were doing here, he was completely distracted by the woman who now approached them.

She was incredibly beautiful, with raven black hair that tumbled just past her shoulders in gentle waves. Her eyes were a bright violet colour and they seemed to catch the light perfectly no matter which way she turned. She wore a very elegant black and white dress that seemed strangely modest considering where they were. And the perfume she wore. Strong and vibrant. Lilac and gooseberries. 

“Jaskier,” she drawled, flicking her eyes over him with a hint of fondness, “and I was beginning to think this evening would be boring.” 

“My Lady Yennefer, as radiant as always,” Jaskier swooped in a low bow and Yennefer scoffed.

“Your flattery is shit,” she snipped.

“And you wound me with your unappreciation,” he feigned hurt.

Yennefer cast an eye over Geralt, ignored him and turned to Renfri.

“And how are you Shrike?” she asked, seemingly much more interested in the woman’s welfare than the men’s.

“Getting along,” Renfri smiled at her, “Business is booming I see.”

“It’s a brothel. The day we don’t turn a profit will be a very dark day indeed,” the raven-haired woman flicked her gaze back to Jaskier, “So is it business? Or Pleasure?”

“You know why I’m here,” Jaskier scowled at her.

“Pity. I know the Countess De Stael was really looking forward to your next visit,” Yennefer tilted her head at him.

Jaskier flushed slightly and Renfri picked up on Geralt’s confusion.

“One of the whores here,” she explained under her breath, “She’s not really a Countess obviously, but her and Jaskier have a bit of a thing for each other.”

“Is the Madame here?” Jaskier changed the subject.

“She is. She’s been waiting for you,” Yennefer indicated the door behind the desk.

“Well I’m here for pleasure so I’ll see you both back at The Lark,” Renfri hummed, slipping away and merging with the throng of the busy brothel.

“Just the two of you then?” Yennefer eyed Geralt then at Jaskier’s nod she turned and lead them to the desk.

Geralt tried to ignore the fact that this woman hadn’t even asked who he was, pretending that it didn’t twist deep in his gut. He didn’t care, he told himself. He was still trying to convince himself of this when something caught his eye. He lifted his head to look at the tables by the corner of the bar and his stomach dropped as he slammed to a halt.

There was a man sitting alone with a tankard that looked as if he hadn’t touched it. From this distance it was difficult to make out his expression but Geralt could see the collection of long thin scars that tracked down the right side of his face, starting just by his hair line, running over his eye, down over his lips and ending at the bottom of his chin. His red leather, spike studded jacket stood out against the bland greyish wood of the bar and he carried a long sword on his back. Geralt recognised him immediately and usually the sight of one of his kin was welcome. But not here, not now. Not when he was literally in the company of the pirate he was supposed to be hunting. 

“Geralt? You coming?” Jaskier’s voice sounded weirdly far away and Geralt shook himself.

“Yeah,” he grunted, moving quickly to join Jaskier and Yennefer by the desk.

He wasn’t sure if Eskel had seen him or not. He certainly gave no indication that he had. 

Yennefer opened the door by the desk and invited them inside.

The little parlour room walls were adorned in thick drapes of deep velvet. The flagstone floor was barely visible under all the throws and cushions scattered about the place. Against the back wall imposed a rather ornate high-backed chair, not dissimilar to a throne. Torches bracketed to the walls cast warm light and the heavy scent of lavender hung in the air.

Jaskier put his hands on his hips as he glared at Yennefer accusingly. 

“Where is she then?” he grumbled.

“She’ll come through in her own time. You know what she’s like,” Yennefer shot back.

Jaskier pouted and flumped down on the ornate chair.

Geralt, on edge, was trying and failing to keep his eyes off Yennefer. There was something about her that drew him in and muddled his thoughts.

The woman misinterpreted his expression.

“I’m not a whore,” she said haughtily, “So get that idea out of your head right now.”

Geralt fumbled over words as he reached to defend himself. 

The drapes to his right twitched and were then brushed aside as a tall, elegant woman entered the room from the door concealed behind the drape. 

Dark hair and even darker eyes, she swooped over to the chair which Jaskier hastily scrambled out of and floated down into it, the material of her silk dress billowing about her.

“Phillipa Eilhart,” Jaskier beamed at her.

“You got my note in Nassau then?” the woman’s voice was heavy with the weight of authority. 

“I did. Thank you,” Jaskier inclined his head towards her, “We got out of the port before they arrived, but they caught up to us on the open sea. Unfortunately, a storm blew in, so I don’t know if they escaped or not.”

“That is unfortunate,” the woman rested her chin on laced fingers.

Geralt suddenly became aware of her scrutiny and he tired to return her glower.

“And who is your companion, Captain?” she drew out, a slight danger to her tone, “I’ve not seen him among your lot before.”

Before Geralt could say anything Jaskier jumped in.

“This is Geralt. We picked him up in Nassau. He saved my life,” the young man said forcefully as if daring Phillipa to question him again.

Yennefer finally gave Geralt her full attention. He tried not to squirm under her searching gaze, afraid that somehow, he would give himself away.

“And does Geralt know what The Lodge is?” Phillipa Eilhart quirked an eyebrow at him.

“A brothel?” the Hunter offered, forcing himself to appear nonchalant.

“On the front, yes. That is exactly what it is. But behind the scenes, we are the Caribbean’s largest source of intel,” Phillipa puffed up proudly, “We know who the important players are, we know what they are up to. The women of The Lodge are positioned in the courts of the Governors and Lords of the archipelago, feeding information back to me and we use it to control, manipulate and blackmail. All in the interest of the people, of course.” 

“There are no spies among the King’s men,” Geralt hummed, remembering Foltest’s indignant statement. 

“Not among their men,” Yennefer chuckled in agreement. 

He didn’t miss Jaskier’s curious glance at his comment, but he pushed it away for now. 

“Your note also mentioned a new target?” Jaskier re-focused, folding his arms across his chest, watching Phillipa expectantly.

“Yes. A clipper. Coming in from the east. It’s supposed to make port at Cumberland Bay in the next three days,” the woman leaned forwards in her chair, fixing him with those dark eyes, “Triss managed to get it out of the Governor of Havana and Francesca confirmed it after overhearing the Lord of the Cumberland Estate.”

Great’s blood ran cold. The Lodge had someone working for Foltest? Could they have seen him? 

“You are to take the cargo to Crooked Island. There will be a man there, Chireadan, who will take it from there,” Yennefer explained.

Jaskier nodded, already appearing to be charting his course by the slight vacancy to his eyes.

Geralt was thrumming with what could only be described as nervousness. He hadn’t really thought about it until now but the odds of being caught were rapidly stacking against him. With the connections to Havana and now to The Lodge and fuck. And with Eskel sitting out there in the brothel. Geralt was just glad no one else could see his inner turmoil.

“Now leave me,” Phillipa waved them away, “I have business to discuss with Yennefer.”

Jaskier gave a curt bow and beckoned Geralt to follow him out of the room.

“She can be a little intense,” the Captain tried in way of apology, “but she means well.”

“How did you get involved with The lodge?” Geralt asked, trying to ignore the fact that Eskel was still sitting in the corner and was definitely watching him.

“I kind of stumbled upon one of their trade deals by accident and instead of killing me, Phillipa gave me a chance. That’s how she works. One chance. And if you blow it?” Jaskier shuddered.

“Hm.” 

Jaskier paused, turning to look at him. They were on the street outside of the brothel. The darkness had crept in quickly and the only light was spilling out of the arch leading back into The Lodge. With the sun gone and no clouds to trap the warmth of the day, there was a slight chill in the air and Geralt realised that he had been sweating as it cooled rapidly on his skin.

“Geralt?” Jaskier had his hands on his hips, slight concern tainting his expression, “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” Geralt grunted, “I just thought… maybe I’d go back in. For a bit.”

“Oh. Right. Good,” disappointment flashed across Jaskier’s face, and Geralt could swear he looked…hurt, but he quickly composed himself and forced a grin, “Enjoy yourself. Don’t pay for what you don’t ask for. See you back at the ship.”

Confusion clouded Geralt’s mind and tightened in his chest as he watched the young Captain stroll away. He wanted to go after him. Join him in whatever tavern and drink with him. But Geralt swallowed the sentiment. There was something he had to do.

He turned slowly back into the brothel to try and deal with the most immediate threat to his hunt. He just had to hope that Eskel was in a listening mood.


	9. The Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Phoebe594 for checking over this chapter for me.
> 
> Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated :)

It had been almost a year since he had last spoken to his brother in arms. 

Usually the Pirate Hunters of the Brotherhood of the Wolf retreated for the winter back to South Carolina, a cove just along the coast from Charleston where the fort of Ker Morhen was built into the cliffs, but Eskel had been caught up in a rather difficult hunt and hadn’t been able to make it home. At least, it was the closest thing to a home the Hunters had.

Geralt found himself wondering if that was still true. 

He shook the thought as he approached the table in the back corner next to the bar. 

Eskel’s bright eyes had followed his every step and the usual humour Geralt expected to be greeted with was only just visible in the twist of Eskel’s mouth.

Geralt sat down opposite him, tension coiling through his body.

“Hello Geralt,” the other Hunter crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“Eskel,” Geralt hated the unspoken rift in the air between them, “How have you been?”

Eskel shrugged. A motion which was usually associated with his deliberate immaturity but was now laced with something else entirely.

“Keeping busy. Hunting pirates,” the pointedness of his reply had Geralt bristling slightly, “I got a contract for a Pirate Captain recently and imagine my surprise when I see you in the company of the very pirate I’m hunting.”

Geralt blinked at him.

“Who put you onto the contract?” he gruffed.

“Some pompous Lord who was complaining about reduced profits or something. But believe me, there are many in the higher-class society of these islands who want that pirate dead.”

“The Governor of Havana employed me,” Geralt said, the venom in Eskel’s tone making him twitch, “I’m dealing with it.”

“Yes, you certainly are,” Eskel’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“There’s a lot more going on here that you realise. Jaskier-“

“Oh Jaskier is it? On a nick-name basis are we? And what-“

“Jaskier is involved with some sort of trade interference,” Geralt bit back his sharp retort, “I am working to find out the details so I can put a stop to it. He’s dead as soon as he stops being useful to me. I have this under control, so back off.”

Eskel narrowed his eyes at him.

“Are you being paid to take down the whole operation?” he growled.

Geralt’s lack of reply was an answer in itself.

“Didn’t think so. And what on earth does this brothel have to do with it? I was put onto this place by people seeing Pankratz frequent here, but neither of you seemed to have gotten your jollies off.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Geralt heard himself saying, “The only thing that matters is your involvement threatens my cover. So please, I’m asking you again. Back off.”

Eskel glared at him again then wilted, a slight pout jutting his lower lip.

“Wasn’t that well paid anyway. And the Caribbean isn’t short of pirates with contracts on their heads,” he grumbled.

“Thank you,” Geralt sighed.

Eskel studied him a moment before shaking his head slightly, a smile pulling at his lips.

“I’ve missed you, you great lug,” the Hunter kicked him playfully under the table.

There he was. The Eskel Geralt knew so well. Even though he seemed to have let the whole thing go, Geralt knew him better than that so he knew that he would have to proceed in his hunt with caution.

Eskel and Geralt had come to Ker Morhen together. Picked up as orphans and brought before Vesemir, the leader of the Brotherhood of the Wolf. They were put in with a bunch of other boys around the same age and then the training began. 

Geralt didn’t think back on it too often but seeing Eskel always reminded him of the torture they went through to emerge as successful Pirate Hunters on the other side. Not all the boys made it. He tried not to think about that too often either.

He was just glad he had Eskel, the closest thing to a friend, a brother, he had ever had. 

Geralt settled into the familiar banter and joking around that came with Eskel’s conversation and they spent some time reminiscing and telling stories from the early days.

“And then Vesemir was livid because you didn’t just take out the target but his whole crew!” Eskel grinned.

“In my defence,” Geralt retorted, “The contract didn’t explicitly say the Captain only.”

“’Ignoring your training and putting yourself in unnecessary danger!’” Eskel mimicked the gravely voice of their mentor.

Geralt laughed with him, but he couldn’t help hearing Vesemir’s words echo through him. Essentially, that was exactly what he was doing, except he now had years of experience rather than being fresh out of Ker Morhen. He knew what he was doing with Jaskier, he told himself, he knew how to handle this.

They spoke together for a long time until Geralt felt the air around them change. The star speckled sky above looked more navy than black. Dawn was on its way.

“I have to go,” he rumbled and Eskel rolled his eyes.

“Of course you do. The life of a Hunter doesn’t allow for the luxury to spend too long in one place,” Eskel sighed dramatically. 

Geralt rose to his feet, reluctant to leave his kin again after enjoying his company.

“What’ll you do now?” he gruffed.

Eskel shrugged.

“I’ll find something. There must he other pirates in Kingston I can offer to hunt down,” he blinked slowly at Geralt, “You look after yourself and watch your back.”

“I’ll see you around Eskel,” Geralt grunted.

“You can count on it,” Eskel quipped back, something off about the sparkle in his eyes.

Geralt didn’t want to dwell on it. He wished the other safe hunting then left the brothel.

He stood just under the arch a moment, breathing in the salty air and trying to control his pulsating heart.

Interactions with other members of the Brotherhood always left him feeling… empty. Lonely. But for the first time he wasn’t heading back to an empty room in a tavern or camping on the beach under the stars. He was going back to the crew of The Lark.

That thought shouldn’t have warmed him the way it did, and he tried to push it away as he walked back towards the harbour.

He could see the shadow of The Lark where she had been docked. The sun still hadn’t risen above the horizon yet. He had some time.

He veered off the road along the harbour, took a side street between some warehouses and emerged onto the main street running through the town right up to the Governor’s manor. There were one or two drunken sailors lolling about outside the taverns but apart from that, the streets were empty. Great had expected to still see a few Red Coast milling about, but he guessed they had probably all turned in for the night.

He wandered further up the main street taking in the various shops and dwellings when a commotion coming from a town house up a side street caught his attention.

He jogged over as the shuttered windows on the top floor banged open and a man scrambled out. It took Geralt about a second to realise that it was Jaskier. 

The man’s breeches were unlaced at the front and his arms were tangled in his maroon jerkin as he wrestled it back on. His hair was a complete mess and his cheeks were flushed. He slid ungracefully down the veranda roof, dislodging a few tiles in his haste and plopped down onto the street in front of Geralt.

“Geralt! Hello,” Jaskier chirped, panting slightly as he fastened his breeches, “I’m not actually sure if I’m glad to see you.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Geralt stared at him, completely bewildered.

“Ah, well,” Jaskier darted his tongue across his lips, “You see, the thing is-“

Shouting came from inside the town house and Jaskier seemed to blanch.

“We really must be going,” he marched off quickly back the way Geralt came and as the Hunter turned to follow, the door to the town house flew open and a man in a rumpled suit brandishing a shotgun practically fell into the street.

“Shit,” Jaskier whined. Geralt grabbed him by the nape of his jerkin and practically threw him into a run as the shotgun fell level with Jaskier's head. 

Geralt sprinted after him. A shot rang out and Geralt ducked instinctively but it missed them by a mile. The man was obviously drunk as his slurred slander followed them through the street.

Jaskier was fast but Geralt had the stamina and as the Captain began to slow, Geralt caught hold of his arm and hauled him into an alley.

He crowed Jaskier against the wall, shielding him with his body to hide him in case they were being followed and took a moment to get his breath back.

As he strained to listen for pursuit, he noticed that for the first time he was close enough to actually smell Jaskier. Under the initial tang of sweat there was the sweet floral aroma of soap. He had half expected the man to smell like the ocean, like wind and rain. Orange blossom and sandalwood somehow made the pirate scourge even less real. 

He could feel the heat emitting from Jaskier’s skin. Blue eyes gazed into amber and Geralt felt his heart skip a beat.

Not sure what to do with the strange emotion fluttering in his gut, he stepped back, releasing Jaskier from the wall and leaning out of the alley to see if anyone was coming. No one did. He missed the second Jaskier stared after him before regaining his composure.

Jaskier bent double, hands on his knees as he let out a shaky laugh.

“Well that was close,” he panted, “Thanks again for saving my ass.”

Jaskier readjusted his jerkin, and patted down his hair without much success.

“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” Geralt fixed him with an amber glare and folded his arms across his chest.

“Her husband came home early?” he offered, standing straight again, “In my defence, she said she was single when chatting me up at the bar.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier smiled at him, but it was soft, and his blue eyes blazed in the light of the rising sun.

“Come on,” he said after a moment, “We should head back to The Lark.”

Geralt nodded and let Jaskier take the lead as they left the alley. 

He fell into step next to the Captain as they reached the docks and he couldn’t ignore just how natural it felt.

Jaskier didn’t ask him about his time in the brothel. Instead he rattled off his plans for getting underway as soon as possible.

Geralt wanted to ignore the niggling in his chest as the man talked excitedly. Jaskier was animated and flamboyant as he jabbered. Compared to the first time he had noticed and thought it annoying, he now thought it was…fuck. Endearing? 

“And you would not believe the amount of time I’ve spent lying in wait for a ship to come past,” Jaskier hopped up the gangplank with Geralt on his heels.

You have no idea, Geralt thought to himself.

“So, we’ll have to pick out a good vantage spot where we can see them coming but they can’t see us,” Jaskier continued, climbing the steps to the quarter deck and pausing to cast his eyes over his ship.

“If they’re coming from the east to get to Cumberland Bay, they’ll have to sail past Tortuga, right?” Geralt joined him on the quarter deck.

“I like your thinking,” Jaskier nodded with enthusiasm, “The small group of islands off the coast will provide the perfect cover.”

Jaskier beamed at him and Geralt grunted.

“We make a good team,” the Captain waggled his eyebrows at him.

“Only because I keep hauling you out of trouble,” Geralt smirked. 

Jaskier laughed.

“Then here’s to us,” he sang, spreading his arms wide, “and your knack for saving my ass.”

Geralt shook his head, his own smile betraying him.

As Jaskier stood there grinning at him, Geralt forgot that he was supposed to kill him. He forgot that he wasn’t meant to make friends with him. He forgot that he was just using him to take down a bigger scale trading operation. He forgot it all, and when he was lying in his hammock later, remembering it all again, he couldn’t bring himself to feel even slightly guilty.


	10. The Cargo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support guys! I love every single one of you!
> 
> Comments and feedback are always appreciated!!!

The Lark was anchored among the pocket of small islands just off the coast of Tortuga. The sea lapped gently at her hull and the wind whistled through the rocks, rocking her slightly from side to side.

The crew were poised and ready to hoist the anchor and let out the sails the moment the order came. The cannons had been readied, the grapples laid out in preparation for boarding. 

Havi perched in the crow’s nest, telescope pointed at the eastern horizon. Renfri was half-way up the rigging of the fore mast with her own spyglass pressed to her eye. Jaskier was behind the helm.

There was a calm focus to the Captain. A stillness and a silence that put the whole crew at ease, even in the face of what they were about to do.

Geralt could feel the crackle of excitement in the air.

He was crouched next to Duny, checking and double checking the security of the knots at the base of the main mast.

They had been in this position for a few hours now. Just waiting. 

The blazing sun glinted off the surface of the water making the already bright day almost too painful to even look at. Sweat was building on Geralt’s brow, trickling down his back, soaking into his shirt. It was stiflingly hot, and he couldn’t wait to get out onto the open sea so that the wind could properly move around them. 

After what felt like days, Havi finally stirred in the crow’s nest.

“Sails!” came his deep bellow.

A jolt shot through the crew, each one of them pre-empting the orders that hadn’t come yet.

“Renfri?” Jaskier called to her.

“Clipper,” she shouted back, “Flying no colours. It’s them.”

“Haul anchor, full sail,” Jaskier yelled.

The crew lurched into action. The canvas sails flapped as they were released then bulged as they filled with the wind. At the same time the anchor was cranked up and The Lark surged forwards with the push of the wind. The black flag at the top of the main mast whipped back and forth.

The brig cut through the water at a startling speed and it wasn’t long before Geralt could see the merchant ship on the horizon. 

Renfri had hopped down from the rigging and was barking orders as she made her way to join Jaskier on the quarter deck.

Geralt held tightly to the side of the ship. Never before had he actually taken part in an act of piracy like this and the rush he felt lit a fire in his gut. Boarding and looting a ship then moving on the cargo. He was going to experience it first-hand and gain invaluable information about the interference in trade that Jaskier was responsible for.

“They’ve spotted us Captain,” Havi shouted.

“Flag them down,” Jaskier ordered, “They may let us approach without having to engage.”

“No use,” the man yelled back, “They’ve changed their course north-west. They’re trying to outrun us sir!”

Jaskier barked out a laugh.

“Let them try.”

His confidence wasn’t misplaced. They closed the gap between the ships within the hour. They must be carrying something heavy, Geralt thought.

They were close enough that Geralt could see the men rushing about on the clipper’s deck and exhilaration burned through him.

“Fire a warning shot,” Jaskier narrowed his eyes.

The boom of the cannon and then the splosh just off the port side of the clipper.

“They’re bringing her about. Gun ports open Captain,” Havi bellowed.

“Prepare to return fire, but remember to aim at their masts,” Jaskier spun the helm, manoeuvring The Lark side on so that the ships could circle each other.

A chorus of cannon fire came from the other ship and each blast fell short of The Lark’s hull.

“We are out of their range,” Jaskier grinned, “Fire a test shot.”

Duny lit his cannon and the stench of gunpower clouded in the air as the cannon ball shot across the gap between the ships and smashed into the railing of the clipper’s poopdeck.

“But they are in ours,” Renfri wrung her fingers gleefully.

“Fire a round,” Jaskier nodded.

A ripple of cannon fire tore across the clipper’s top deck. One glanced off the main mast which creaked under the strain.

“Hold,” Jaskier held up one hand.

“They’re signalling us Captain,” Havi shouted, “They surrender.”

“Keep your wits about you,” Jaskier called to the crew, “Prepare to board.”

Geralt withdrew his sword from his back, rolling his shoulders and feeling its familiar weight in his hand.

The Lark approached the merchant ship steadily until they were parallel with each other. Jaskier gave the order to drop the fore and top sails as the crew threw grapples over the side of the other ship, effectively binding them together. Gangplanks were laid out to bridge the gap between the ships and the crew of The Lark swarmed over to the clipper.

Geralt followed Duny and stood with him in the stand off between crews. The clipper’s men looked terrified. 

“I demand to speak to your Captain,” one of the men stepped forwards, his authoritative voice shaking with fear.

The man wore a tricorne hat and a brown coat. His lacy cuffs were visible at his sleeves and his breeches were tailored exquisitely. 

Jaskier waltzed forward, his long blue coat swaying in time with his bounce.

“Don’t mind us,” the young man chirped, “Just browsing your wares.”

The clipper’s Captain seemed surprised and slightly taken aback by Jaskier’s youthfulness and a dangerous expression crossed his face.

Geralt was immediately on edge.

“Now listen here you little shit-“ the Captain sneered at Jaskier who had a look of innocence plastered all over his face.

He was cut off as Jaskier caught him with a strong right hook. The Captain crumpled as his nose shattered and blood streamed down his face.

The crew of the Lark tightened in formation slightly, daring the other crew to retaliate.

“Are you trying to hurt my feelings?” Jaskier placed a hand on his chest, dramatic offence in his expression, “There is no need to be rude. We only want to raid your cargo hold. And maybe your stores as well.”

The clipper’s Captain rolled about at Jaskier’s feet, clutching his bloody face. 

“Tie them up. Kill them if they cause trouble,” the young man sighed with a pout on his lips.

The clipper’s crew were rounded up and bound tightly to the mast. Duny, Ben and another crew member Geralt had come to know as Jon, stood around them, pistols trained on their heads.

“Right. Good. Well that was relatively less of a blood bath than I expected it to be,” Jaskier grinned, “It’s always nice when things go this smoothly.”

Renfri rolled her eyes at him then lifted the hatch covering the stairs leading down to the lower decks.

“Renfri, Geralt, Havi, with me,” Jaskier became stern as he looked back down at the Captain lying semi-conscious on the ground, “the rest of you grab anything useful and take it back to The Lark.”

Confusion swept over Geralt. One, he was being asked to go with the Captain which made his skin tingle with an emotion he didn’t want to think about. And two, what kind of cargo were they stealing that only required four people to retrieve?

Jaskier lead them into the bowels of the ship swiftly and paused by the hatch covering the stairs to the final deck. A padlock sealed the solid wooden hatch.

Havi descended on it immediately, picking the lock with a set of small tools he pulled from his vest pocket.

It finally dawned on Geralt what kind of cargo this ship was carrying, what kind of trade Jaskier was disrupting, and he felt himself freeze to the spot as the hatch was wrenched open and the smell of sickness hit him in a rancid wave.

There was a moment when the four of them stood in abject silence that was only broken when Jaskier nodded to Havi and the man grunted, expression unreadable as he climbed down into the cargo hold.

His mind numb, Geralt went to follow but Jaskier stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. Geralt looked at him searchingly.

“This whole process goes a lot easier if he talks to them first,” Jaskier hummed softly, “We’ve had too many misunderstandings and lost too many lives to risk doing it any other way.”

Geralt nodded.

Jaskier offered him a small, kind smile and his grip on his shoulder tightened.

Geralt found himself drawing comfort from the touch. 

He didn’t know why he was surprised to find out that the trade Foltest, and a bunch of the other Governors and Lords, were so keen on protecting was slavery. Maybe because he had again underestimated the young Captain. Maybe because the idea of pirates actually being good people went against everything he had been taught. Maybe because now, this threw everything he thought he knew up in the air and the decisions that lay before him terrified him more than he ever wanted to admit.

Havi appeared on the steps again, his face grim.

“You can come now,” he growled.

He went back down and Jaskier followed him. Geralt let Renfri go first then, after stealing a bated breath, he went after her.

This deck of the ship had been opened right up to allow for maximum holding. The main mast and fore mast stops were the only things that broke up the sight of about twenty slaves, an unequal balance of men to women, all chained together, huddled in the dark. The light was so poor down here that Renfri scrambled back up the steps to bring down a lantern which she hung from the roof in the middle of the room. Each slave was dressed in rags, thin and malnourished and more than a little seasick.

Havi spoke to them quietly as Jaskier chewed his lower lip, blue eyes livid in the swinging light of the lantern. Geralt stayed by the stairs where Renfri joined him.

One of the slaves, a man in his early thirties, slowly stood on shaky legs, trailing the chains that connected his shackled wrists to his neighbour. 

He looked utterly terrified, but he spoke confidently, addressing Jaskier.

“You are Captain?” he pointed to Jaskier.

“Yes,” the young man turned to give him his full attention.

“You um,” the slave darted his tongue across his cracked lips, trying to find the words in this language not native to him, “free us?”

“Yes,” Jaskier reassured.

A ripple of relief and excitement sounded from the slaves.

“I’m going to take you somewhere safe,” Jaskier promised, stepping forward slowly, wearing an expression so genuine that the man before him teared up.

“Thank you,” he trembled.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Jaskier grit his teeth, “We’ve still got a lot of ocean to cover first.”

Havi set to work freeing the slaves from their shackles. One by one they stood, some requiring support from the others, rubbing their wrists, chattering together with optimism for what Geralt assumed was the first time in months.

Renfri beckoned them to follow and they cautiously moved towards her after some encouragement from Havi.

Geralt watched them all shuffle past him and joined Jaskier at the rear as the significantly larger group made their way top side.

The Hunter kept quiet, mind churning, gut clenching, heart thundering in his chest.

Jaskier was practically vibrating with nervous energy and he fidgeted with his fingers as they ascended through the ship.

“It gets me every time,” he said quietly so that only Geralt could hear. 

Geralt glanced at him and the man suddenly looked so small and young that it took his breath away.

“I just can’t understand the…the treatment of human beings as livestock. I…it just…”

It was Geralt’s turn to place a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. Pushing away his current mess of emotions and thoughts to reassure the man that he was…what? That he was there? 

Jaskier blinked away unshed tears and Geralt got the feeling that there was more to this than he already knew.

He let his hand fall back to his side as he came up onto the main deck, blinking rapidly in the harsh sunlight after the gloom of the ship.

Each of the slaves were rubbing their eyes and taking huge lungful’s of fresh sea air. Jaskier’s crew met them with nothing but kindness and encouragement as they were helped to board The Lark.

Jaskier threw a dangerous look at the clipper’s Captain who had been tied up with the rest of his crew. And Geralt wasn’t actually sure what he was going to do with them. He had stopped by one of the gangplanks to watch Jaskier deliberately and obviously weight up his options. 

Duny, Ben and Jon all looked to their Captain, awaiting their orders as the rest of The Lark’s crew hopped back onto their ship.

“Leave them,” Jaskier shrugged.

The three men tucked away their pistols and followed their crewmates.

“Wait! You can’t just leave us here!” the clipper’s Captain spluttered.

“I don’t know, sounds reasonable if you ask me,” Jaskier crouched down in front of the Captain so he was eye level with him.

“But tied up to the mast like-like-“

“Like what? Go on. Finish that sentence,” Jaskier snarled and the Captain’s face drained of colour.

Jaskier stood, a nonchalant air about him.

“I think I’m being rather fair to be honest. I mean, your anchor is up, and your sails are all out. The current and the wind will, with any luck, take to a port or a harbour or,” he waved his hand absently, “or against rocks or something.”

“No please!” the Captain wailed as Jaskier spun on his heel and sauntered over to Geralt.

“Shall we?” Jaskier indicated the gangplank with a sweep of his arm.

“After you Captain,” Geralt feigned a bow, smile twitching his lips.

Jaskier smirked and jumped up onto the solid plank of wood. As soon as Geralt joined him on the deck of The Lark, Renfri gave the order and the gangplanks were retrieved and the rope attached to the grapples was cut.

With another sailor at the helm, Jaskier wove among the crew and the slaves on the deck giving brief orders.

“All sails, lets make use of this wind while we still have it,” he bellowed across the deck, “Renfri set a course for Crooked island.”

“Aye Captain,” she bounded over to the quarter deck and joined the man behind the helm.

“Let them enjoy the sun for a bit, then get them something to eat and settle them down below,” Jaskier addressed Havi who nodded and called over Jon to help him. 

Geralt joined Jaskier as the man stood alone for a moment. 

“You okay?” he grumbled.

The surprise that registered across Jaskier’s face quickly turned into a tired smile.

“I’ll be okay, just uh…Help them get organised and once we’re underway I’d like you to join me in my cabin. We have a few…things to discuss.” 

Elation? Dread? He wasn’t quite sure what the Captain’s request stirred in him, but Geralt just hoped that he could keep his wits about him long enough to deal with whatever Jaskier wanted to talk to him about.


	11. The Captain's Cabin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, feedback and comments are greatly appreciated!!

Geralt clenched and unclenched his fists as he hovered outside the Captain’s quarters.

There was a tightness to his chest and a fluttering in his gut as he tried to anticipate what Jaskier wanted to talk to him about.

He had tried pushing away whatever emotions were currently churning through him like he always did but it was becoming harder and harder to stop himself from feeling these days. He blamed himself. He was weak. He was failing the Brotherhood. But he couldn’t deny the fact that being here, on The Lark, with this crew, with this Captain, was filling a void deep inside him he hadn’t even realised was there.

He bit his lower lip and knocked.

“Come in,” came Jaskier’s voice from inside. 

Geralt took a bated breath then entered the cabin.

The first thing he noticed was the Captain himself, leaning back on a chair behind a desk at the far end of the room with his feet propped up on the lacquered surface and his lute in his lap. 

The second thing he noticed was the papers and maps and charts and books strewn about the place. On shelves, on the desk, on the table in the centre of the cabin, stacked in piles against the walls. 

The cabin was modest in its decorations and fixtures. The dark wood of the walls and the floor illuminated by the sun streaming in from the windows behind Jaskier created a warmth. Behind a partition Geralt could just see a bed tucked away in the corner with a trunk at the foot which was bursting with fine clothing. 

There were little trinkets and nonsensical items congregated on some of the shelves. Little things and mementos Jaskier had collected over the years. Among the nautical volumes and Captain’s logs, he could see the odd poetry book. 

It suddenly dawned on him that he was in Jaskier’s personal space. This cabin told him a lot about the man. He wasn’t a particularly tidy person. He was sentimental. Materialistic. Interested in ship design judging by the schematics and blueprints displayed on one of the walls. 

As Geralt took in the room, his attention was drawn to a portrait that hung by the door. It was of Jaskier, but he was dressed in a purple and blue doublet, standing in what was supposed to be a powerful pose gripping the hilt of a long sword that had been speared into some sort of winged beast by his feet. His expression was stern which contrasted with the floppy hat on his head with a white feather sticking up towards the sky. Had had some sort of red cloak billowing behind him. All painted onto a dramatic flat-rock landscape.

“It’s hideous isn’t it?” Jaskier smirked and Geralt turned to look at him, bewildered amusement on his face.

“I wouldn’t say it’s very flattering,” he gruffed.

Jaskier laughed.

“The crew had it commissioned for my last birthday as a joke but fool on them because I actually like it,” Jaskier pulled a face, “In an ironic kind of way.”

The Captain invited him over with a wave of his arm. Geralt pulled up a chair from the table and sat opposite Jaskier with the desk between them.

The young man placed his lute on the desk and stood. He took a decanter and two glasses from the unit behind him and arranged them next to his lute.

“The finest rum in all the Caribbean according to Yennefer,” he smiled, “Have a drink with me Geralt?”

“Hm,” Geralt nodded, feeling himself starting to relax slightly.

Jaskier poured him a glass of the dark amber liquid and slid it towards him.

“Here’s to a successful day’s work,” the Captain grinned, chinking their glasses together and taking a long drink.

Geralt scrunched up his nose as the rum hit the back of his throat. The subtle spice tingled on his tongue and his second sip was more pleasant.

“Say what you like about Yennefer,” Jaskier swirled the liquid around in his glass, “But she does know her liquor.”

Geralt hummed in agreement, settling back in his chair and just letting himself enjoy this moment. He knew it wasn’t going to last long judging by the way the Captain shuffled and the sparkle in his eyes faded, but for a brief second, he could pretend that they were friends without anything else getting in the way.

“Geralt,” Jaskier ran a hand through his hair, “I trust you. And you have earned your place in this crew, there’s no doubt about that.”

The Hunter felt a lightness spreading through him, but he sensed a ‘but.’

“But today when you finally learned what it is we…I do, I couldn’t help but notice you were…” he chewed his lower lip, searching for the right word, “Conflicted.”

Geralt grew still. He had forgotten how observant Jaskier was and he knew that any lie he told now would sound just like that. A lie. But the whole truth wasn’t desirable either. A half-truth then? He certainly didn’t want to betray the trust he had earned but absolutely didn’t deserve. 

“The prosperity of the Caribbean is built on trade. Slave trade is, unfortunately, the most profitable of them all,” he started carefully, “I’m not saying I agree with it, because I don’t, but when trade is interrupted and the prosperity is threatened, it’s the common folk who suffer. Innocent people just trying to live their lives, struggling to feed their families. I understand what you are doing. I applaud it. It’s incredible. But how can we decide which human lives are worth more than others.”

Geralt took a breath. That was the most he had said in one go in a very long time and he watched Jaskier carefully to gage his reaction.

The young man had an unreadable expression on his face. 

“You’re right Geralt. You are. And I think about it every God damned day but…freeing slaves? It’s more than protecting human rights or screwing over the rich and corrupt. It’s…fuck,” Jaskier looked away from him, jaw clenched, grip on his glass tight, “It’s personal.”

Geralt twitched with confusion and Jaskier let out a sigh.

“My full name…and title, is Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove,” Jaskier sat up straight, blue eyes dark and mouth twisting into a thin line, “My father inherited land in Florida from his Uncle when he died, so he moved my whole family to the new world and set up in the plantation there. I was about six at the time.”

He took another drink of rum and Geralt felt his whole body tensing. This was what he had wanted wasn’t it? To find out more about the Captain? So why was he suddenly reluctant to hear it? He knew why. The pain tainting Jaskier’s expression was already too much and he couldn’t bare to see more as the young man relived his memories.

The realisation that he never wanted to see Jaskier hurting slammed into him like a punch to the gut.

“I remember asking my father about the people he had working his fields and he told me to ignore them because they ‘weren’t people.’ I didn’t understand. They looked different and spoke different but to me, they were still human beings,” there was a bitterness creeping into Jaskier’s voice, “I kept asking about them, so my old man beat me until I stopped.”

“Jaskier, you don’t have to-“ Geralt grumbled.

“No. I do. I…I need you to understand,” Jaskier almost pleaded. Geralt nodded slowly and bit back the response lingering on his tongue.

“After that, I spent a lot of my childhood avoiding my father and trying to be the good little son of a noble,” the Captain sneered into his glass, “until one day, when I was thirteen, I was exploring the derelict outhouses at the back of the estate when I fell through the rotting floorboards and got stuck. I had cut my leg and it was bleeding badly. I called for help. Do you want to take a guess at who came to my rescue?”

“Havi,” Geralt said after a moment’s thought.

Jaskier tipped his glass towards Geralt, a small smile on his face as he drained the rum.

“He got me out of there, cleaned me up the best he could and took me back to the house. My mother didn’t even look at him. I needed stitches and the physician said that if I had been left there for too long I could have bled out and died,” he rubbed the back of his neck absently as he refilled his glass, “I went to thank him properly the next day and he was so taken aback that I would go out of my way to do so that in that moment I decided I was done with the whole slavery thing. I started sneaking off during the evenings to spend time with them. I got to know them. Havi’s father taught me to play the lute. I helped them with their English so they could defend themselves better. We started to talk of liberation.”

Jaskier rose from his chair and went to stand by the window. His back was to Geralt and his whole posture was stiff with tension. Geralt let him have his space, keeping quiet, giving him time to continue.

“My father caught me one evening when I was sixteen. He had the slaves I was with whipped. When I tried to stop him, he said to me, ‘disobey me like a slave, be punished like a slave,’ and lashed me too,” Jaskier swallowed thickly, “I spent a few weeks bedridden after that. One of the wounds got infected and I was very sick. By the time I was up and about again I was ready to just give in and obey my father, but I saw him terrorising a young slave girl because she had accidently knocked over a vase and I knew that I had to try and get them all out.”

The young man shook his head and turned back to face Geralt, eyes blazing.

“I was stupid. Naïve. I managed to get Havi out but the rest…they were shot down by my father’s men. We ran. We made it to Fort Lauderdale. With the coin I had taken and my title still intact, I purchased Havi’s freedom. He could have gone anywhere but he chose to stay with me. It wasn’t long before we bumped into Renfri and I helped her out of the awful situation she found herself in and for some reason, she stayed with me too. Together, we came up with a plan. Rounded up a few men. Purchased a ship. Our first attempt at taking on a slaver ship ended in us beating a hasty retreat. But we learned quickly and started hunting slavers down, but it was slow. Eventually we stumbled across The Lodge and with their resources and capabilities, well, the rest is history,” Jaskier blinked slowly at Geralt, waiting for some sort of response.

Geralt sat still, reeling from Jaskier’s story, staring at him.

Jaskier returned to his desk, fidgeting with his fingers, hesitant in his movements.

“Do you get it now? Do you understand? Because, Geralt, I ne-I want you with me on this,” he suddenly looked so vulnerable that Geralt’s heart broke for him.

He didn’t have to think about his answer. He was pretty sure he had decided what he was going to do the moment he had chosen to save Jaskier’s life up in the crow’s nest. He had just been ignoring it and avoiding it. But he was sure now.

“I’m with you Jaskier,” he rumbled.

Jaskier flopped down in his chair with giddy relief, head in his hands as he let out a breathless laugh.

“Fuck,” he sighed, and when he eventually looked back up at Geralt, the Hunter had to choke back a sob.

The look Jaskier was giving him sent a wave of emotions torrenting through him that he didn’t have the time or energy to decipher before they were nulling again. 

The one that did linger, souring slightly in the back of his mind, was fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear over the choice he had just made. Fear of the relationship he was building with this man. Fear of what the Brotherhood would do to him if they found out.

But Jaskier was smiling at him, gentle and kind and genuine and Geralt felt himself smiling back.

“Thank you Geralt,” the young man hummed, “Sorry that it got a bit heavy there. I just…um…”

“It’s okay,” Geralt replied, and it really was. Everything was okay.

Jaskier was about to say something more when the muffled shout of ‘Land’ came from the quarter deck above.

“Crooked Island?” Geralt grumbled.

“Crooked Island,” Jaskier nodded.


	12. The Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who had left a comment so far! I appreciate all the love and support and thanks for continuing on this exciting journey with me!!

They had to anchor a good way off from the coast of the sandy island. The water was too shallow to bring The Lark in close and it had taken three trips with the lifeboat to bring all the slaves to shore. 

They were all huddled together, chattering softly with Havi, their nerves and fears threatening to get the better of them. 

Geralt stood with Renfri and four more of the crew, waiting for Jaskier to return with The Lodge’s contact.

Crooked Island was the third largest in a string of small islands about two and a half days south-east of Nassau. There was a very small fishing village on the north shore of the island and dense palm trees and jagged rocks separated the village from where they had landed on the south side. 

Jaskier thought it safer to meet away from the village as Red Coats often used the fishing village as a rest stop. After making sure things on the beach were safe and settled, he had slipped off to find Chireadan, leaving Renfri in charge.

Geralt had wanted to go with him, but the Captain insisted he needed Geralt with the slaves to protect them if anything happened. Renfri agreed with his logic and Geralt had resigned himself to glaring at the spot between the trees where Jaskier had disappeared nearly half an hour ago.

Renfri paced behind him and the other crew members sat in the sand. 

The odd seagull circled overhead, their cries startling the slaves who were understandably jumpy.

Jaskier had made sure they were all fed and allowed to rest. He had ordered food parcels to be prepared and given to them for their journey ahead. Each of the slaves were baffled and confused by his genuine concern for their wellbeing and Jaskier had been very patient as they thanked him over and over.

Geralt was quickly losing his own patience as the minutes crawled by. Part of him wanted to march off into the trees and track down the Pirate Captain to make sure he was okay, but he stayed put. Because Jaskier had asked him to.

Geralt had always had the desire to protect people. He was a Pirate Hunter after all. It was the very essence of his job. And when he was with other members of the Brotherhood, he never wanted to see any of them come to harm.

But this was very different. He had never…cared about someone like this before. He had come to this realisation when he was standing next to Jaskier on the quarter deck watching the island get closer and closer, thinking about what the young man had told him and wanting nothing more than to give him comfort. It was new and unfamiliar, and he didn’t quite know what to do about it. What he did know, was that the longer Jaskier was gone, the more the worry and aggravation tightened in his gut. 

He knew he shouldn’t worry. Jaskier was more than capable of handling himself, but Geralt was having a hard time working through the emotions he had been repressing for years.

“He’ll be back soon,” Renfri sounded from behind him, obviously seeing his rigid stance.

As if on cue, the branches of foliage wobbled and out stepped Jaskier followed closely by a man in a fitted brown coat and neatly styled hair.

They were laughing together and Geralt felt the tension he had been holding release.

“Everyone, this is Chireadan. Chireadan, everyone,” Jaskier beamed as they came closer.

The group of slaves shuffled nervously, and the newcomer smiled warmly at them.

“You don’t have to be scared anymore, you’re all safe now,” he said gently, an accent to his voice that Geralt couldn’t quite place.

Jaskier signalled to the crew members who had been sitting in the sand to keep watch and the four of them fanned out, one heading up the beach, one heading down, and the other two melting into the palm trees.

Geralt quirked an eyebrow at Jaskier but the man just shook his head subtly.

“Lady Yennefer sends her regards by the way,” Chireadan turned to look at Geralt and Geralt felt his mouth dry up.

He couldn’t deny that Yennefer had caught his attention but from the look on Chireadan’s face, he decided to keep his mouth shut. He could practically hear Renfri’s smirk and Jaskier just rolled his eyes, his expression very controlled.

Havi approached Chireadan with his arms folded across his chest.

“They want to know what’s next,” he grumbled.

“Of course!” Chireadan smiled widely, “There is a ship waiting for us on the east side of the island. You will be taken to another island north of New Providence. The British don’t patrol those waters, so it is perfectly safe. Once there you will be properly clothed and fed whilst we sort out your papers and then you will be free to either start a new life here somewhere in the Caribbean or get passage on a ship and return home.”

Excitement rippled through the slaves and Geralt felt himself warm at their eagerness to get going. 

“I will send word to Lady Yennefer once they are safe and settled,” Chireadan said quietly to Jaskier who nodded.

“Once we’ve seen them safely on board your ship, we’ll take off and lay low for a while. Don’t want to attract too much attention until you’re all well on your way,” Jaskier hummed back.

“Lady Yennefer said that you were a good man. She’s never wrong about those kinds of things,” there was a glossiness to Chireadan’s eyes when he spoke about her and Geralt was pretty sure the man was in love with her.

Jaskier just winked in response.

“Well, there’s no time like the present,” Renfri clapped her hands together, “So let’s get going. Lead on to your ship Chireadan.”

Before anyone could move, the crew who had gone into the palm trees burst back onto the beach in a flurry of panic.

“Red Coats! Lot’s of them! Coming this way!”

“Shit!” Jaskier yanked his sword from his belt and took a second to think.

The slaves seemed to crumple on the spot.

“Havi, go with Chireadan and get them all to his ship. We’ll hold them off,” he barked.

Geralt watched as the slaves were bundled together and took off quickly down the beach. 

He joined Jaskier’s side, pulling his own sword from his back. Renfri flanked the Captain’s other side and the two crewmen spread out slightly.

There was a moment of stillness where the only thing Geralt could hear was the thundering of his own heart then the undergrowth exploded as British soldier after British soldier spilled out onto the beach.

“The chances of surviving this are dwindling,” Renfri glanced at Jaskier, “You, me, Geralt, Jimmy and Arran?”

“Eh, I like those odds,” Jaskier grinned at her then launched himself at the nearest Red Coat.

Geralt tried to keep an eye on Jaskier as the beach became a mess of battling people. He crossed swords with a particularly burly Brit who seemed fairly competent with the blade he was brandishing but Geralt could see that he leaned too much of his weight on his left side so, as the first swing came towards him, he ducked the blow, shoving into the man’s right hip, effectively spinning him on the spot and knocking him to the ground. Geralt speared the soldier in the chest and a gush of scarlet bloomed from the wound as he ripped his blade out and turned on the next soldier.

This man was slighter than the last, and fast. A flurry of blows came towards him and Geralt stepped back as he parried each one. He was aware of another soldier advancing on him from the left, so he feigned right, caught the smaller soldier off balance, thunked him in the back with the hilt of his sword and pushed him into the advancing solider. Before he could deal with the tangle of limbs sprawled at his feet, another sword whistled towards his head and he caught the attack with the edge of his sword. He thrust forwards with all his strength, clipping the soldier’s knuckles which caused the man to drop his weapon. Geralt kicked sand into his attacker’s face and as his hands came up to claw at his eyes, Geralt sliced his blade through the man’s throat. Blood gushed down his front, darkening his already red uniform and he keeled over with a gurgle in his throat and blood bubbling on his lips. 

Geralt had a second to search out Jaskier who was locked in a ferocious sword fight with a rather large Red Coat. As he moved to help, someone crashed into him and he was burled over. Spitting sand, he went to scramble up but there was suddenly a weight on top of him and a blade trying to bite into his neck. He tried to push the soldier off him, but the angle of his arms stopped him for using his strength effectively. The knife came towards him again and he jerked his head to one side. The blade sank into the sand and Geralt turned to sink his teeth into the meaty hand holding it. The soldier above him howled and Geralt was able to surge upwards and throw him off in the distraction. He kicked the man hard in the chest and was pretty sure he heard ribs crack. He spat onto the sand, the coppery tang still tainting his tongue. 

Sweat and blood and grit caked his skin and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He spotted the crewman who had gone to scout up the beach. With six pirates now, all fighting viciously, the number of Red Coats was no match for them, and their ranks were starting to deplete. 

“Retreat!” came a shout, “Retreat!”

Those who could scrambled back towards the trees, some trailing blood as they went. Jaskier held up his hand to stop his crew from going after them, panting hard and grinning with victory.

Geralt wiped his sword clean on the coat of the nearest dead soldier, sheathed it, then tromped his way across the carnage towards the Captain.

“Everyone okay?” he grumbled as they regrouped.

“Yeah, miraculously,” Renfri moved among the fallen men on the beach, stabbing any who were still breathing.

Apart from a few scratches and the promise of a few possible bruises, they had all come away fairly unscathed.

Geralt noticed a nick in Jaskier’s left eyebrow and the smear of drying blood that clashed with his skin by the corner of his eye. It would probably leave a scar. Geralt frowned as the Captain caught his expression.

He waved it off with a smile and his blue eyes danced with the elation of the fight.

“Captain!” a voice rang out further down the beach.

They all snapped their attention to the crewman who had scouted in that direction, the direction Havi, Chireadan and the slaves went. Geralt’s stomach dropped when he saw that the man was drenched in blood.

The man stumbled in the sand and Jaskier was by his side in an instant, propping him up as he gulped in huge lungful’s of air. There was a deep gash across the man’s chest, and he was shaking.

“What happened?” Jaskier snapped, trying to keep the man coherent enough to talk.

“Ambushed. Red Coats,” the man rasped, “Chireadan got away with most of the slaves but they-they-they took some of them and…and Havi.”

The colour drained from Jaskier’s face. Geralt hated the feeling that coursed through him at the young man's despair.

“Where were they taken?” Jaskier stammered.

“Fishing village. A ship.”

“Stay with him,” the Captain ordered his crew, “Renfri, Geralt, with me.”

Jaskier took off like a shot towards the palm trees and Geralt sprinted after him with Renfri just behind.

His chest felt tight and his muscles protested after the exertion of the battle, but adrenaline drove him on.

He skidded to a halt by a clump of feathery ferns, almost crashing into Jaskier who had stopped to crouch among them.

Under the cover of the ferns and the trees, they could see across the bay where the fishing village stood. Anchored at the rickety dock sat a frigate, and along the beach heading straight for it were the gaggle of surviving Red Coats. Among them, bound with rope, was Havi and seven of the slaves.

Jaskier made to launch himself out of the bushes but, with a spike of fear, Geralt caught his sleeve and pulled him back. The young man glared at him but quickly wilted.

“You’re right,” he grumbled, reading Geralt’s expression, “There’s too many of them. We’d only risk getting everyone killed.”

“They knew,” Renfri chewed her bottom lip, “Somehow they knew we were going to be here.”

Geralt could feel the heat of rage coming off Jaskier in waves. He leaned into the younger man slightly until their shoulders brushed and blue eyes connected with amber. I’m with you, whatever happens next, he told him silently with his gaze, and Jaskier blinked with understanding, giving him a grateful nod.

Renfri had whipped out her spyglass and was peering at the frigate.

The ship was vast and towered over the village in the bay. Its gundeck ran the length of the vessel and there were more Red Coats bustling about on its main deck. 

“Jaskier,” Renfri hummed, “There’s a crested flag on its fore topmast.”

Her face dropped with disbelief.

“What?” Geralt and Jaskier said in unison.

“The Cumberland Estate crest,” she swallowed, lowering her spyglass.

“Shit,” spat Jaskier, digging his nails into his palms.

“Captain-,” Renfri glanced at him.

“We need to get back to The Lark,” Jaskier growled, “Ready the men. Looks like we’re going to Cuba.”


	13. The Plantation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!

By the time they had got back to the beach and bundled into the lifeboat with the injured sailor carefully propped between them, the sun was starting to set. Its deep orange bouncing off the surface of the sea, turning the world gold. 

After a quick explanation to the crew and the rush to cast off, The Lark was bumping along the waves as fast as the wind could carry her. The dying light of the day giving way to the haze of the moon in the starry sky.

They had caught up to the frigate around midnight and followed the tiny glow of her lanterns through the mist that had risen from the sun-heated sea. 

Jaskier had been unnervingly quiet as he stood behind the helm. He looked exhausted but he had refused Renfri’s offer to take over for a while, insisting that he would rest when Havi was safe again. 

Having had a quick conversation with Renfri, Geralt understood that Jaskier felt guilty. That he blamed himself for what happened. The Hunter spent a long time trying to work out what to say to him, to reassure him that this wasn’t his fault. But as always in this kind of situation, words failed him, and he found himself cursing his time with the Brotherhood for his social ineptness.

That was an odd feeling. Resenting the people who had made him who he was. Even though his life with the Brotherhood had been tough and brutal, he had never been bitter about it. It was all he had known. But now, looking up at the young Pirate Captain, he found himself wondering for the first time in his life what kind of man he would be if he hadn’t been brought to the Brotherhood of the Wolf.

As the light of dawn climbed the horizon, Jaskier had slowed The Lark down. The vast shadow of Cuba loomed over them. They could just about see the frigate trailing the coastline round the southern point of the island, its destination Cumberland Bay. 

Jaskier had ordered the lookout for somewhere they could drop anchor. His plan was to keep the Brig out of sight and slip ashore unseen. If they had any chance at rescuing Havi and his kin, stealth was paramount. 

The crew had voiced their agreement and Renfri had organised the initial scouting party. They had to get a lay of the land. Find out where the captives were being held before any kind of rescue attempt was made.

Jaskier insisted on leading the party. Renfri had tried to talk him out of it but the Captain had folded his arms across his chest stubbornly and wouldn’t budge.

The Quarter Master sighed and chose Duny, Jon and Geralt to go with him. She had asked Geralt quietly to keep an eye on Jaskier. He assured her he would. Renfri would stay with the ship, keeping her ready for a quick getaway if the moment came.

A shout came from the crow’s nest and the sailor pointed to a small cove backed by towering cliffs. The Lark could be brought in close and Cumberland Bay was only a klick to the west. There seemed to be a way up the cliffs created by jutting outcrops of rock, or the scouting party could take the lifeboat round to the Bay. This position provided them with two ways to get to the estate, but more importantly, two ways to escape. 

Jaskier maneuvered The Lark as far into the cove as he dared before risking running her aground, ordered the drop of the port side anchor and the crew set about securing the sails.

There was a tension in the air. With one of their own in danger, each of the crew worked quickly and quietly and Geralt could feel the weight of expectation that lay on the scouting party to find a way to bring Havi back safely.

The Hunter fastened the clips of his leather studded jerkin and took a moment to try and focus himself. He hadn’t worn his light armour since the first day on board The Lark and what it represented, the mission he was supposed to be carrying out, lingered uncomfortably in the back of his mind.

He joined Jaskier on the main deck beside the lifeboat, slightly more on edge than he would have liked and nodded to the young man. 

Jaskier had a hard expression on his face as he slid an extra knife into his belt and readjusted his blue coat to cover it.

Duny was helping Jon to lower the lifeboat onto the water. Jaskier had decided to approach from the bay so that their boat was there if they chose to leave that way. Both of the men had grim expressions on their face as the gentle splosh and the relaxing of the rope told them the lifeboat was down.

“Just remember you’re doing recon,” Renfri side eyed Jaskier as the men prepared to climb down the hull and into the boat, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Come on Renfri. You know me. When have I ever been known to do anything stupid?” the grin Jaskier flashed her didn’t quite reach his eyes and she placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently before letting him go.

Geralt swallowed thickly as he caught her hazel gaze and he nodded solemnly to the Quarter Master as he swung himself over the side of the ship and joined Duny and Jon in the boat.

“I’ll send word once we know what’s going on,” Jaskier promised, following Geralt.

“Just all of you be careful,” Renfri called after them.

The lifeboat rocked slightly as Jaskier settled and Jon took up the oars.

The steady rhythm of the wood slicing through the water, the sound of the gentle waves lapping at the hull, the smell of the salty water thick in the air.

Geralt sat opposite Jaskier, watching the young man fidget as he stared the shoreline.

“We’ll get him back,” Geralt grumbled, “We’ll get them all back.”

Jaskier glanced at him, a smile faltering on his lips.

“I’ve already failed his people before Geralt. I can’t fail him too,” there was a tightness in his voice and Geralt had the sudden urge to reach out for him.

Instead, he tried for the words that wouldn’t come on the deck of The Lark.

“This isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known Cumberland would send his men after you,” his brow creased in a soft frown.

Jaskier shrugged.

“How did they know where we would be anyway?” Duny piped up from his seat behind Geralt.

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” the Captain said darkly.

“Do we…do we have a spy?” Duny ventured cautiously.

“No. No, we don’t,” Jaskier’s gaze rested on Geralt and for a moment the Hunter thought…but there was only trust and warmth in those blue eyes and Geralt felt a relief wash through him. 

Jaskier turned his attention back to the coast, watching the rocks and trees and sand glide by. Geralt just looked at him. 

He watched how the breeze ruffled through his hair. He watched how the rising sun glinted in his irises. He watched the twitch of his jaw muscles as he ground his teeth together. He watched the way he fiddled with his sleeve absently. He watched the stiffness of his posture and the way he bounced his knee, the heel of his boot tapping on the bottom of the boat.

The care, the love he had for his men, his friends, the evident concern for Havi and the other slaves, Geralt couldn’t believe how…lucky he was, how they all were, to have him.  
“How close are we?” Duny peered round Geralt at the rugged shoreline.

“See that dip in the rocks there?” Jaskier indicated the outcrop of sea battered rocks that curved slightly inland, “The bay is just beyond it.”

Jon cracked his neck and pulled long strokes with the oars. He kept the lifeboat quite near the rocks as they passed them, and the masts of the frigate came into view.

The vast ship was anchored at a small dock in the middle of the sweeping sandy bay. The beach stretched back from the water and bled into prickly grass. The odd plume of ferns and solitary palm tree were dotted about and a compact road meandered away from the docks, disappearing behind a sloping hillock further inland.

The frigate itself was still, and there were no Red Coats on the beach. 

Jaskier signalled to keep close to the rocks as they entered the bay and landed on a stretch of beach a good way from the British ship. If there were still men on board, they couldn’t risk being spotted. 

Duny and Geralt dragged the lifeboat under a rocky overhang and did their best to cover it with seaweed and driftwood in hopes of disguising it.

As the sun climbed the sky, sparkling off the rippling sea, the scouting party stalked inland, keeping by the rocks that rose sharply into a cliff until the frigate was out of sight then Jaskier struck out towards the road. They kept low, ears straining for any sign of danger, and followed the stretch of compact sand which quickly turned into dry earth, using the ditches either side of the road for cover. 

It wasn’t long until they saw it. A very grand, redbrick manor house nestled in the middle of acres of sugarcane fields. The road lead straight up to the house where it opened out into outbuildings, stores, and stables. There was a gate across the road just where the field in front of the manor started and it was being guarded by two Red Coats. A waist high barbed fence stretched the length of the fields either side of the gate posts and ran the perimeter of the plantation. 

Jaskier directed the party into a cluster of bushes off the road to avoid being seen by the guards. They slowly moved up to the fence and Geralt could see that even in the early morning there were already slaves out working the fields. 

They stood sprinkled among the sugarcane, men and women, with baskets at their hips and scythes hacking through the tall plants. Their handler stood at the corner of the field. A bald man with a bullwhip at his hip. He looked almost bored as he watched over the workers. 

There was a clatter of hooves on the road and the scouting party pressed back into the bushes. 

A horse drawn cart pulled up at the gate and after a quick word with the guards, the driver spurred on. The cart was stacked high with crates and sacks.

Geralt watched as the horse was jerked to a halt by one of the outbuildings. The driver was met by a man who jogged down the front steps of the house and they started unloading the goods.

Jaskier tugged Geralt’s sleeve and his attention was drawn back to the party.

“We need to find the slave quarters,” Jaskier said quietly.

Geralt nodded and followed as the Captain lead his men along the fence. 

The heat of the sun was quickly building and Geralt was already sweating under his jerkin. He focused on keeping his footsteps light as they wove through the long grass, travelling further and further around the edge of the plantation.

They were almost level with the back of the house when Jaskier halted them. Through a copse of thick branched trees sat row upon row of tiny wooden huts. Far enough away from the house so that they could be easily ignored by its occupants, close enough to the fence to taunt the people they were supposed to shelter with freedom. 

There were a few men, women, and children all milling about, getting organised for the day’s work ahead of them. Another handler slouched against a tree close by the huts, but his back was to the fence and the distance between him and the scouting party made him a less of a concern.

Geralt could feel Jaskier coiled with tension as they watched the slaves go about their morning, observing from the bushes, hoping to see a familiar face.

“Fuck it,” Jaskier grumbled after a few minutes and cautiously approached the fence. 

Geralt flanked him. Duny and Jon fell in behind them.

There was a young woman standing outside of a shabby hut, folding a blanket she had just taken from the doorframe. Her tattered dress had the remnants of a faded floral pattern and her hair was scooped back off her face, held in place by a scrap of brown material. 

Jaskier picked up a stone, narrowed his eyes, his tongue poking out between his lips, and tossed it in her direction. It clattered off the side of her hut and her head shot up.

Her eyes blew wide when she spotted them huddled by the fence and looked about ready to run when Jaskier shook his head quickly and held up both his hands as a sign of peace. 

The woman hesitated.

Jaskier shuffled slightly and beckoned to her, his entire body language open and soft.

She took a step towards them, thought better of it and scrambled back inside her hut.

“Bollocks,” Jaskier grunted.

He rubbed his face in his hands but looked up again when Geralt nudged him.

“She’s coming back,” he whispered.

The woman was peering at them from around the door of her hut, then slowly approached the fence. She had armed herself with a rug beater. 

“Who are you?” she hissed, raising the rug beater slightly.

“It’s okay,” Jaskier hummed, “We’re not going to hurt you.”

She faltered slightly in her convictions and Geralt could tell that she thought he was telling the truth. She remained wary as she stepped closer to the fence.

“What’s your name?” Jaskier asked.

“Mary,” the woman responded a little too quickly. 

“No,” Jaskier shook his head, “Your name.”

The woman grew still for a moment, contemplating his question then said, “Tumaini.”

“Tumaini,” Jaskier smiled at her, “My name is Jaskier and this is Geralt, Duny and Jon. We are looking for a friend of mine.”

“None of your friends here. Up at the house is where your friends are,” Tumaini scoffed at him.

“His name is Havi. He was taken along with a few others when we were trying to get a group of people like you somewhere safe. He is like you,” Jaskier explained calmly.

She thought about this, looking at Jaskier curiously.

“You are friends with a slave?” she tilted her head.

“Havi is not a slave. He is a free man. We were trying to help free others, but he was captured,” Jaskier could see that she was understanding him, and he smiled softly at her.

Geralt thrummed with warmth as he listened to Jaskier speak with this woman. Jaskier kept crouched, allowing her to stand over him. He spoke to her as an equal. He spoke to her with kindness. Geralt could see that Tumaini was confused and intrigued by him and he completely understood.

“They brought in new slaves early. Early this morning. It was still dark,” Tumaini turned to look at the manor, “New slaves are always taken in there. To the basement. No food for three days. Then they are put to work. If they do the work, they get to eat.”

Jaskier nodded, but Geralt could see his expression fall.

“How do we get into the basement?” Jaskier forced his voice to remain steady.

“Oh no. I don’t know. I don’t work up at the house. But Nafasi will know. She works as a maid. She works for the Lady,” before Jaskier could respond, Tumaini hurried away and disappeared between the huts.

“What are you thinking?” Geralt rumbled, glancing at Jaskier.

The Captain pulled a face as he fidgeted with his fingers.

“If we can get into the house…but I’m not sure how,” he chewed his lower lip, “I mean, we can always wait the three days. It will be easier to get them away out here. But…”

Geralt felt Jaskier lean against him slightly. Their shoulders brushing against each other. A subconscious need for reassurance, but the touch had Geralt’s skin tingling.

“Let’s see what Nafasi has to say,” he blinked slowly at Jaskier, pleased that his voice didn’t betray the unfamiliar emotion swelling in his chest.

“We’ll work it out Captain,” Duny chirped and Jon hummed in agreement.

It occurred to Geralt that he had not heard the man speak once since meeting him well over a week ago now. He was about to ask him a question when movement the other side of the fence pulled his attention.

Tumaini was back and she was holding the hand of a much older woman who had grey streaks in her hair and her face was lined with her years.

Jaskier greeted her with a smile and the older woman scowled at him.

“These men?” Nafasi asked, accent thick, eyes narrowed, “These men will free us?”

“Ah, well,” Jaskier darted his tongue across his lips, “We uh-“

“You see? They not come to free us,” the woman waved him away, starting to turn her back.

“We came to rescue a friend, and the men and woman who were taken with him,” Jaskier said quickly, “I can’t guarantee freedom for all of you, but we can try.”

Nafasi fixed him with her dark eyes.

“And how do we trust you?” she growled.

“I am the Captain of a ship. The Lark. My word is my bond,” Jaskier rose to his feet, meeting the woman’s eye with measured respect, “My crew and I attack slaver ships and take the people we find somewhere safe.”

“How big is your ship. There are over sixty of us. You still think you can help us?”

Jaskier paled slightly, mouth fluttering for words.

“There is a frigate docked in the bay,” Geralt grumbled, “There will be enough of us to take her.”

Jaskier let out a shaky breath, nudging Geralt to show his gratitude.

Nafasi frowned and was quiet for a moment. Tumaini was hovering by her side with nervous excitement. 

“You want into the house,” she said slowly, “In through the servant’s entrance on the east side. But it is impossible.”

“Why?” Jaskier pressed.

“So many men. Too many men. They come and go all day and all night. The Lord prepares for a big party. So much cleaning to do. You will never get in unseen,” she shook her head sadly. 

That explained the horse and cart, Geralt thought. Maybe holding out for three days was the way to go but he knew that Jaskier wouldn’t, and couldn’t, wait that long.

“When is this party?” Jaskier drummed his chin with his fingers, an interesting look crossing his young face.

“Tonight. Big party tonight,” Nafasi sighed.

“Geralt!” Jaskier spun to him, literally fizzing with excitement, “We are going to this party and I know exactly how we are going to get in!”


	14. The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the support from you all had been amazing and I never expected this fic to catch the attention it has! thank you all so much

“I thought I said don’t do anything stupid?”

“This isn’t stupid! This is genius!” Jaskier beamed as he fastened the buttons of his gold silk doublet.

Renfri snorted from her perch on his desk, illuminated by the golden sun slowly crawling towards the horizon.

Geralt had to agree with Renfri. This idea was crazy and would never work, but if anyone could pull it off, Jaskier would be the one to do it.

The Captain bustled around his cabin, pulling his boots on as he went.

“Come on,” he rolled his eyes at Renfri as he dove into a chest, strewing its contents across the floor then moving onto the next when he didn’t find what he was looking for, “You’re just mad I didn’t ask you to join my quartet.”

“No, I’m mad because you are insane!” she snapped, arms folded across her chest.

“This will work, trust me-aha!” Jaskier stood up in triumph holding up a lute strap that matched his doublet and breeches.

Renfri bit her lower lip.

Geralt watched Jaskier swap out the lute straps and then swing his instrument over his shoulder.

With his hair combed neatly into place, his blue eyes sparkling with confidence, his fine clothing tailored to fit him perfectly, Geralt couldn’t help but think that he looked good. This getup suited him and Geralt could see him performing and entertaining in the courts of Kings and Queens.

“I don’t like that you’re going in unarmed,” Renfri tried again but the defeated look on her face betrayed her.

“We won’t be unarmed,” Jaskier lifted the hem of his doublet to reveal the knife he had tucked into the back of his breeches. He readjusted himself with a grin, “And besides. As our chaperone, Geralt will have his sword. You’ve seen him fight. We’ll be fine.”

Geralt avoided the sharp look Renfri gave him, not wanting to be drawn into it if he could help it. 

He had agreed to help without a second of hesitation when Jaskier asked him and he knew that the success of what they were about to do hinged heavily on his involvement. 

‘It’ll be dangerous,’ Jaskier had said, ‘you don’t have to do it.’

‘I’ve already told you Jaskier, I’m with you in this,’ he had grumbled back. 

Jaskier had swallowed hard, a strange look lighting up his face. The Captain had stepped forward to hug him but in a flash of panic Geralt put his hand out instead and after being jabbed in the stomach, Jaskier had quickly shaken the disheartened expression and grinned, shaking his hand firmly. 

If Geralt regretted not opening himself up to be that vulnerable with another person, he didn’t have time to think about it because Jaskier had taken off in a flurry of limbs and found Geralt a clean white shirt that fit him. He had fussed over making the lacing at the collar look neat and helped Geralt fold his sleeves to the elbows. After a brief moment of thought, Jaskier encouraged him to tie his hair back and practically froze to the spot when casting an approving eye over him.

When Renfri had seen him, she did a double take. Now however she was glaring at him with narrowed eyes.

Jaskier rubbed his hands together and made his way across the cabin to the door, feigned tilting a cap to the portrait of himself and held the door open, waiting for Renfri and Geralt to follow him.

The three joined the rest of the crew who were gathered on the main deck.

Duny, Ben and another crewman called Willy were standing at the front of the crowd, all wearing waistcoats and ruffled shirts. They looked pristine and each held and instrument. Duny had a flute which he could actually play fairly competently, Ben had a string of bells, and Willy had a tambourine. 

“Oh, this is brilliant,” Jaskier grinned as he circled his crewmen, “The Lark Quartet.”

“What am I even supposed to do with this thing?” Willy grumbled, holding up his instrument. He was a middle-aged man with a crop of black hair and a square jaw.

“Just…bash it along with the beat or something. I don’t know. You’ll work it out,” Jaskier winked at him and Willy huffed.

Geralt took a moment to just breath as the realisation that they were doing this settled over him.

“Right. Here’s how this is going to work. Geralt, Duny, Ben, Willy and myself will take the lifeboat and land in the bay and go up to the manor. Renfri with her group will climb the cliff and Jon will take you to the rendezvous point where we met Tumaini and Nafasi this morning. They should all be ready to go. The Lark Quartet and Geralt will get into the house, free Havi and the others, and meet you at the rendezvous. Renfri will take Havi and some of the others back to the Lark via the cliffs and the rest of us will go back to the dock and take the frigate. Arran will be at the helm of The Lark and you must be ready to cast of as soon as Renfri gets back. We will meet with both ships ten clicks south,” Jaskier took a breath, “Does everyone know what their job is?”

A chorus of ‘aye Captain’ sounded from the crew.

“We can do this,” Jaskier hummed, flaring up with pride.

Renfri prepared her party to disembark and Jaskier gathered his quartet. 

“We need to give Geralt as much time as we can to find the basement and get to Havi, so I’m counting on you all,” he blinked slowly.

“Don’t worry Captain. We’ll pull this off just as we have with many other crazy stunts in the past,” Duny smiled widely.

After a call of good luck to the rest of the crew, Jaskier climbed down into the lifeboat and the others joined him.

Geralt took up the oars, allowing for the quartet to throw together a hastily practiced set. After four or five runs they weren’t sounding too bad. Maybe the guests at the Lord’s party wouldn’t notice the under-rehearsed, un-professional style of their entertainment. 

They pulled into the bay and the music died as they took in the various ships docked around the frigate. Mostly schooners and cogs but enough to possibly cause a problem when trying to get the larger ship out.

“Damn, this Lord must throw some amazing parties if he has guests arriving from other islands too,” Duny cursed under his breath.

“All the ships are empty though,” Jaskier observed, leaning out of the lifeboat slightly, “As long as we get away clean, we should be okay.”

They hid the boat where they had before and Jaskier lead them along the beach and up the road towards the plantation. 

Geralt could see the nervous bounce to his step and fell in beside him.

“Thanks, Geralt,” Jaskier said softly so the others couldn’t hear.

“For what?” Geralt glanced at him.

Jaskier seemed to take a moment to think about this, then looked at him with wide blue eyes.

“For being my friend.”

“Hm,” was all Geralt could bring himself to say.

He hoped Jaskier hadn’t noticed the hitch in his breath. His heart skipped a beat. His palms became sweaty. His gut constricted and fluttered all at once. 

Just think, he thought to himself, two weeks ago I was contracted to kill him, and now, here we are, working together to rescue Havi and his kin. Friends. 

The word, the feeling, was foreign to him. It wasn’t unpleasant. It was…new. Different. Good.

Jaskier deserved some sort of actual response from him but before he could form words, they found the road in front of them suddenly very busy.

Horse drawn carriages, couples on foot, carts with last minute crates of booze, all joining the road up to the plantation. Every local Lord and Lady, and then some, must have been invited.

Geralt couldn’t decide of that was a good thing or bad thing. Less likely to be noticed or more chance at being caught? 

The throng of people filtered through the gate as the Red Coats checked invitations. The last warmth of the setting sun lingering in the air as lanterns were lit and coats buttoned up.

Duny, Willy and Ben kept in a tight formation behind Jaskier and Geralt, trying not to let their unease give them away.

When it was their turn to approach the guards, Jaskier strode forwards with confidence.

“Invitation?” one of the guards drawled.

Jaskier put on an air of offence.

“Do you not know who we are?” he demanded, “The Lark Quartet! And our chaperone. The good Lord Cumberland asked for our presence himself!”

The guard scanned a sheet of slightly crumpled paper that looked to be the guest list.

“You’re uh, not on the list,” he said with a half-apologetic shrug.

“Not on the-? This is outrageous! Who on earth is responsible for this? Fetch me your Captain of the Guard. No! Better yet, bring Lord Cumberland himself! I’m sure he will sort this all out!”

Jaskier was causing a scene and it was starting to draw the attention of the surrounding nobility. Both guards looked panicked and bewildered.

“There will be consequences for this grievous mishap,” Jaskier continued dramatically, “I will be writing a letter to the Governor and-“

“Ah! Wait! There you are,” the guard with the guest list pointed vaguely down the page, being careful to not let Jaskier actually see the names, “Just missed you is all. Very sorry about that.”

“Not at all!” Jaskier immediately dropped the attack and beamed warmly at the guards, “Mistakes happen.”

They were still both trying to compose themselves as Jaskier led his men through the gate.

“Piece of cake,” Jaskier grinned as even Geralt tried to contain his laughter.

A servant in a tailcoat met them at the foot of the steps leading up to the grand doors of the manor. He cast them a suspicious glance down his nose.

“Name?” he lilted.

“We’re musicians,” Jaskier indicated his troop with a sweep of his arm, “The Lark Quartet.”

“More musicians?” the servant quirked an eyebrow, already bored with this conversation.

Jaskier shrugged.

“Servant’s entrance, through the kitchens. Don’t dally,” the man sighed, indicating round the side of the house.

Jaskier gave him an exaggerated bow then marched in the direction the servant had pointed.

There was a small wooden door propped open by a barrel and the scents of roasting meat and fresh bread wafted over them.

They slunk into the manor house.

The corridor they stepped into was dingy and made of rough grey stone. The odd lantern dotted along the walls cast long shadows with their orange light. The wall on their left was interrupted by the doors to the storerooms, all of which were currently open, and the wall on their right had a large arch half-way down where the bustling of a kitchen could be heard. The corridor stretched even further into the servant’s floor, but a woman scurried from the kitchen and stopped when she spotted them before they could move in further.

“Bradley! There’s more for ya!” she squawked over her shoulder then dove into one of the stores.

A squat man, shirt done up to the last button which didn’t help with the roundness of his head, and a suave dinner jacket draped over his shoulders peeked into the corridor.

“More musicians? What is the Lord playing at? Ah very well. Come with me and I’ll get you set up in the drawing room,” he sighed deeply and beckoned them to follow him.

Jaskier quirked an eyebrow at Geralt who just grunted, and they hurried after the butler who set a brisk pace through kitchen and into the bowels of the house. 

The kitchen was a clash of copper pots and stained tiles. Something was frying on the stove. Knives flashed as they cut through various vegetables. Cooks and porters and maids wove about each other, carrying trays, pans, towels, platters. A servant appeared at the bottom of the staircase in the corner, flushed and irritated, “We’ve run out of the ’42. If there’s not another bottle I swear to god-“ and disappeared into one of the stores.

As they exited the kitchen, there was a set of wooden double doors that probably lead back outside for larger deliveries of goods, and just down from it on the opposite wall was the door to the basement.

Jaskier inhaled sharply as they were marched past.

“I see it,” Geralt growled quietly so only the young man could hear.

Jaskier nodded and hurried to catch up with the butler.

Bradley took them up a flight of stairs a little further along the hall and creaked open the door at the top. 

“This way please,” he sighed.

He led them into the grand entrance hall of the manor. The door they had just walked through blended in with the panelling of the walls and was tucked under the vast central staircase climbing up to the next floor. 

There were a lot of people milling about in the open space, greeting each other, being handed drinks. The odd Red Coat stood idly among the guests. Above them all, inhabiting the wall in front of the stairs, was a portrait of the Lord of the estate and his family. 

Lord Cumberland was a handsome fellow if the painting was anything to go by. He had a strong, pointed chin and steely grey eyes. His greying hair was swept neatly back off his face and there were gentle crinkles around his eyes from the slight smile on his lips. His navy uniform suited him. Next to him was his wife. A somewhat mousy woman compared to her husband with a pinched face and a meanness that the artist hadn’t been able to keep out of her expression. Two children, a boy, who was slightly older, and a girl, sat in front of their parents. Every bit the silhouettes of the adults behind them.

Geralt found himself deeply disliking the people in the portrait. He put it down to the fact that their wealth and splendour had been built of the backs of slaves.

“In there,” Bradley stopped at a door propped open by a brass figure of a soldier astride a horse, “Set up where you like.”

And with that, he swept away.

Jaskier pulled a face that was almost a smirk and ventured into the drawing room. 

There were a few of the guests in here, lounging on the velvet sofa and leaning against the hearth. None of them paid the newcomers any attention.

Jaskier chose a spot by the bookshelf crammed with leather bound volumes. 

“Okay,” he said in a low voice, “once we start up, Geralt wait by the door. When I give you the signal, get back down to the basement. You’ve got about half an hour before we exit through the main door and we’ll meet you by the fence. In, out. Just like that.”

Geralt nodded, holding his gaze a moment then slowly drifted towards his position.

He just hoped to God this worked. 

Jaskier arranged his quartet behind him and then stood tall, beaming at the non-existent audience and started to play. Duny picked up the tune quickly with his flute and Ben and Willy followed the beat.

The guests in the room turned to look at them with mild interest, then Jaskier started to sing.

“Fairer than snow fall, she begged me to stay,  
Holding my hand as I gazed at the bay,  
Please don’t you go love, be here with me,  
And I said sorry love, my heart lies with the sea.”

The song told the tale of a sailor torn between his love of a woman and his love for the sea, ending with the sailor convincing the woman to go with him. It was a song Geralt had heard Jaskier sing before when he was at the helm and thought no one was listening, but the warmth of his voice and the feeling behind each lyric never ceased to amaze him.

It wasn’t long before the drawing room was full of people jostling for a place to better see The Lark Quartet. 

Geralt remembered what Jaskier had told him that first day they met in Nassau, about how the common pirate had no appreciation for the finer qualities of his craft. Even though it wouldn’t be for long, Geralt was glad that Jaskier had a chance to leave behind the jaunty shanties and vulgar ditties in favour of more eloquent ballads suited for the finesse of the nobility before him. 

With his animated charm and mixture of beautiful and funny ballads, it wasn’t long before he had the guests eating out the palm of his hand. The rapport he quickly established had the men and woman around him relaxed and laughing and very, very distracted.

Geralt was so wrapped up in watching Jaskier perform that he almost missed the Captain’s signal, a subtle twitch of his fingers over the neck of his lute, and berated himself as he slipped unnoticed from the room.

The entrance hall was empty with the guests either enjoying Jaskier, the buffet laid out in the dining room, or the other group of musicians set up on the veranda.

Geralt closed the servant’s door behind him and the noise of the party was muted. He steadied himself, focused himself, then set off back down towards the basement. 

His strained to listen as he crept down the narrow passage. Luckily, no one came his way and he reached the basement door without any problems.

He couldn’t see into the kitchen from where he stood which meant that unless someone came towards him, he was out of sight.

Geralt tried the handle. It clicked and the door opened.

Huh, Geralt thought, this is too easy.

As if fate had heard him there was a noise from the way he had come and he whipped round to see Bradley stomping towards him, red in the face.

“And where do you think-?”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Quick as a flash, Geralt had the man in a headlock, putting pressure on his windpipe to stop him making any noise. With his airway cut off, the butler passed out and Geralt dragged him inside the entrance to the basement, propped him against the wall and pulled the door too. The Hunter debated killing Bradley. A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated. 

“Fuck,” he grumbled to himself.

He pulled his sword from his back and cracked the butler over the head with it. Blood seeped from the cut on the man’s temple. Bradley wouldn’t be waking up any time soon.

Geralt’s eyes had adjusted to the dim light and he stalked down the steps, trying to prepare himself for what he might find at the bottom.

He didn’t see the Butler’s unconscious body slide down the wall slightly, bumping into the door and forcing it to shunt open.


	15. The Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!!

The basement, where one would usually expect to see crates, boxes and trunks, dust, rats and rags, was essentially a large holding cell.

Wrought iron bars stretched from floor to ceiling and the only light came from a lantern hung at the bottom of the stairs. The space itself wasn’t particularly large as would usually be expected of a manor such as this, which made Geralt think that it was designed specifically for keeping people. 

A chill crept down his spine.

In the gloom he could just about see them huddled against the far wall, eyes trained on him as he descended the stone steps. Their fear and uncertainty were evident by the way they were shaking and he sheathed his sword.

“Havi?” he called out.

“Geralt?” came the man’s deep voice.

Havi stood from where he was trying to shield some of the others from the potential threat they had assumed was coming to torment them. His obvious relief rippled through his entire body.

“I wasn’t sure if anyone would come,” Havi sounded slightly guilty.

“We are going to get you out of here. All of you,” Geralt grumbled stiffly as he cast his amber eyes over the door of the cell.

“We? Jaskier is here?” Havi approached the bars and leaned into the light.

He looked very tired but there was a fire in those dark eyes.

“He’s distracting the Lord’s guests. There are more of the crew waiting for us. There is a plan,” Geralt grunted, inspecting the lock, then the hinges.

“There’s always a plan with Jaskier,” Havi said fondly, but then a sadness ghosted over his eyes, “He always means well, even if those plans don’t always come through.”

Geralt knew exactly what Havi was referring to and couldn’t help but notice the similarities between that rescue attempt and this one. But this time Jaskier has a whole crew of people helping him, Geralt thought to himself, this time his plan will work.

“The Lord Cumberland. He keeps the key,” Havi frowned as Geralt poked at the lock again.

“Don’t need a key,” he rumbled, “This door is heavy. There’s a lot of pressure on the hinges. That makes them weak.”

To prove his point, he leaned heavily against the hinge side of the door and the metal groaned under his weight.

Havi threw him a questioning glance but Geralt could hardly tell him that is was something all Pirate Hunters were taught in the Brotherhood of the Wolf.

Instead he said, “I’ve spent my fair share around prison cells,” which wasn’t technically a lie, just not the whole truth.

Havi accepted his answer, not prying further and Geralt was grateful for that.

He ran his fingers over the joins of the hinges, pulled the knife from his belt, and carefully wedged the blade between the metal of the highest hinge.

“Lean on the door just here,” Geralt tapped the bars of the cell door beside where he had jammed his knife.

Havi pressed his entire weight against the iron as Geralt forced the knife forwards. This would be easier with a crowbar, he thought as he jimmied the blade back and forth.

He was very aware of the time ticking by as he put all his strength behind the knife.

There was an almighty crack and the hinge broke. The added weight to the other two hinges had the metal creaking. 

Geralt moved down to the middle hinge, again asking Havi to lean hard against the bars. This hinge shattered as soon as Geralt applied pressure to the knife and the bottom hinge buckled immediately under the intense weight. The noise of grating metal set his teeth on edge as he caught the door before it clattered to the ground. He carefully lowered it, then stood, dusting off his hands.

“Let’s go,” Geralt gruffed with a jerk of his head.

The group of seven men and women behind Havi came forward cautiously. Geralt understood their pessimism. They had thought they were free once before, but those hopes were dashed pretty much as soon as they were formed. 

Geralt was about to offer words of reassurance when a piercing scream rang out from the top of the stairs.

“Ah fuck,” Geralt bounded up the stone steps to see the unconscious butler sprawled through the open doorway.

Whoever found him had ran off and Geralt knew they didn’t have much time to escape.

“Shit.”

He could hear the others close behind him and he made for the wooden doors beside the entrance to the kitchen. He kicked with all his might but apart from wobbling slightly in their frame, the wood didn’t splinter like he had hoped. What he did hear was the rattle of chains on the other side of the door, binding the handles together.

“Fuck.”

“Geralt?” Havi sounded surprisingly calm.

“This way,” Geralt withdrew his sword and took off through the kitchen.

The already scared and worried servants and cooks practically dove out of his way as he marched through with a face like thunder. If he’d had more time, he could’ve had those damned wooden doors opened. 

He couldn’t take them up through the house. This was the next best thing. He just had to hope that they kept their nerve and stayed together.

Geralt could hear the thumping of his heart in his ears as he tried to push away the rising panic.

The shrieks and threats from the kitchen followed them as Geralt hurried towards the servant’s entrance to the manor.

He burst out into the cool night air, breathing hard, mind whirling, and paused a moment to get his bearings. There was a commotion coming from inside the house. He could hear the shouts and cries and curses. 

“Come on,” he growled, running towards the back of the manor.

They stumbled into the light spilling from the veranda and the guests still gathered there spotted them.

“Oi! Stop!” shouted a Red Coat, struggling to get through the mass of delicate nobility.

Geralt could see more of the Lord’s guards barging onto the veranda, bayoneted rifles raised. The group behind Havi froze to the spot in fear and Geralt felt his stomach plummet as the soldiers took aim.

“Run!” Jaskier shrieked, shoving past the Red Coats with Duny, Willy and Ben hard on his heels.

The distraction gave them enough time to push the freed slaves into motion. Blue eyes met amber for a moment and Geralt could see Jaskier’s unspoken question written all over his face. What happened?

Geralt swallowed the guilt rising in his throat as he felt Havi shift beside him.

The confusion and horror from the guests echoed around the grounds as they sprinted towards the slave’s huts.

A shape loomed out of the darkness and Geralt had a split second to duck as one of the slave handlers lashed his bullwhip at him. Three more flanked the first. Without pausing in his stride, Jaskier slashed viciously with his knife and sent the closest handler crumpling to the ground, clutching his stomach as his guts threatened to spill out of his body. Geralt hacked at the legs of another, then thrust his sword up into the chest cavity of a third. The fourth handler turned on his heels and fled. 

They didn’t have a moment to stop though because the Red Coats were closing in. They thundered down the well-trodden path between the sugarcane and through the shacks towards the fence. The moon’s hazy glow their only source of light.

Geralt slammed to a halt alongside Jaskier at they reached the rendezvous point. There was no one there. None of the slaves. None of the crew.

“Where-?” Jaskier panted.

The bushes on the other side of the fence rustled and Renfri stepped out.

“Oh fuck,” Jaskier bent double, hands on his knees, his relief short lived as the bellowing of the soldiers sounded somewhere behind them.

“I sent them ahead to the frigate,” Renfri explained, helping them through the barbed fence, “We heard screaming from the house, so I thought it was better not to wait.”

“Right. Good. We need to go,” the Captain grunted.

“What happened in there?” Renfri asked as they moved off along the perimeter of the plantation.

Geralt felt his chest constrict painfully, forcing the breath from his lungs. It was his fault. 

Jaskier just shook his head. 

Geralt watched Havi half embrace Jaskier as they hurried through the dark, missing their verbal exchange as he strained to listen for pursuit. 

The Red Coats had stopped chasing them. Geralt suddenly felt very uneasy.

As soon as they could see the gate to the plantation, guard-less Geralt noted with another pang of worry, they struck out into the long grass, moving parallel with the road, keeping to the shadows the best they could.

“Okay, Renfri? Take Willy, Havi and the rest back to The Lark. Geralt, Duny, Ben and I will keep on towards-“ Jaskier was interrupted by a torrent of gunfire and screaming coming from further down the road.

The whole party stopped dead.

“Oh no. God no,” Jaskier’s voice broke.

“Willy, Havi to The Lark now!” Renfri barked, “Take them south-east and you’ll find the cliffs and the cove.”

“But I need to help,” Havi glowered.

“AND I NEED YOU SAFE!” Jaskier roared at him, “GO NOW!”

The two men did as they were told. They gathered the terrified men and women and herded them off in the direction Jaskier had thrust his arm. 

The last look shared between Havi and the Captain made Geralt feel sick to the stomach. He forced himself to refocus, to prepare for what he expected to happen next.

Another chorus of gunfire echoed around them, followed by more screaming, and Geralt launched himself after Jaskier and Renfri, with Duny and Ben close behind him.

As they crested the gentle rise of the hillock, Geralt could see the carnage on the beach. 

The Red Coats that had intended to cut them off before they reached the docks had stumbled across the mass group of escaping slaves and were mowing them down with merciless precision as they fled in all directions. The crew of The Lark that were with them were trying their best to usher them towards the cliffs where they could head back inland but in the panicked frenzy their frantic instructions weren’t being heard. 

There were ten soldiers in total and they hadn’t spotted Jaskier’s party yet.

Geralt tightened his grip on his sword, a rage burning in his blood.

At Jaskier’s signal, they descended on the Red Coats. 

In the confusion, the attack on the slaves stopped, and Renfri slipped through the firing line to bark orders at the crew and regroup.

“Captain!” she shouted once she had control over the beach.

“Forget the frigate!” Jaskier growled, stabbing a soldier in the neck with his knife, the gush of blood spraying his gold doublet.

Renfri sent two of the crew to help their Captain and then started to usher the surviving slaves back up the shoreline.

“Captain more incoming!” came Duny’s shout.

Geralt spun round in time with Jaskier to see more Red Coats rushing down the road towards them. 

“Shit,” Jaskier spat, “We just need to hold them off to give Renfri time to get back to The Lark.”

The young man had picked up a sword from one of the fallen soldiers and was brandishing it with determination. 

Geralt found himself by his side. They glanced at each other, something else firing inside Geralt as he looked at the young man, then threw themselves at the oncoming guards.  
Swords clashed, shots fired. They were outnumbered like they had been on Crooked Island, but this time they were fighting for so much more.

Geralt found himself shoulder to shoulder with Duny and they danced back and forth, attacking and parrying with a deadly focus.

A particularly strong blow had Duny stumbling and Geralt knocked the soldier back by barging into him. The man clattered to the ground and Geralt slashed him across the chest. He was breathing hard as he let the energy of the battle fuel him. 

He lost sight of Duny as he sidestepped a charging Red Coat, catching him on the back of the knees with his blade and felling the man like a tree. He spotted Jaskier who had just sent a Red Coast running with his tail between his legs. The Captain grinned at him but then his face fell.

“Behind you!” he shrieked.

Geralt turned, flinching back, and white-hot pain erupted down the left side of his face. Blood glued his eye shut and spurted down his shirt. Stunned, he tried to lift his sword to defend himself but found that he couldn’t make his arms work. His ears were ringing, his pulse was loud, his breath felt heavy, he could taste copper.

He saw the blade swinging down towards his face again and wondered absently if it would hurt.

The attacker’s sword bounced off Jaskier’s as he leaped in front of Geralt and blocked the fatal blow. In a flurry of movement, Jaskier disarmed the man and shoved his blade through the soldier’s face. The soldier keeled over with a thud.

Geralt had sank to his knees and was trying to blink the blood out of his eyes. Jaskier tumbled down beside him. His lips were moving but Geralt couldn’t make out what he was saying. The horror was very clear in those blue eyes though and Geralt found himself thinking about how expressive those eyes were.

Somehow, he was on his feet and through the haze of shock he stumbled forwards with Jaskier guiding him.

Jaskier’s voice was muffled as if someone had pressed their hands over his ears but he was starting to understand a few words.

“Going to be alright. Got you Geralt. The cliffs. Retreat to the cove.”

It registered with Geralt that Jaskier had only called the retreat after he had been injured. He didn’t quite know how to process that.

As the sea-salt air and the stronger breeze started to clear his head, he could see that they were making their way along the top of the cliffs. He was surrounded by crewmen from The Lark. Jaskier had an arm tucked around him to help support his weight. The booming shots of rifles told him that Red Coats were in pursuit but keeping at a distance, hoping to pick them off one by one as they tried to escape.

The pirates returned fire and Geralt reached for the pistol at his hip. Jaskier felt his movement and tried to help him but Geralt grunted.

“Don’t touch Roach,” he managed to gruff.

He suddenly became aware of the burning pain on the left side of his face and he sucked in a sharp breath. Abandoning his attempt to draw his pistol, he touched his face gingerly, hissing as his fingers slicked with blood and pain bloomed under his fingertips.

“You’re going to be okay Geralt. We’ll get you cleaned up and you’re going to be-“

“Okay?” Geralt rumbled, glancing at Jaskier who he could feel trembling against him.

“Geralt I-“ the Captain stammered.

“Save it for when we are safe,” Geralt grumbled, able to support himself upright without Jaskier’s help.

Jaskier let his arm slip from around him but still kept incredibly close in case Geralt needed him again.

Geralt could see The Lark at the bottom of the cliff. The crew were scrambling down the rocky outcrops. 

A bullet whizzed past his face as Geralt swung himself over the edge of the jutting rock. He felt Jaskier bump into him in his haste to climb down and he steadied the young man with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Well this has been fun,” came a voice above them.

Duny looked pale as he prepared to descend the cliff. 

Geralt bit back the sharp retort on his tongue, just glad to see the man alive after losing him in the fight earlier. 

“Hurry it up Duny, the Red Coats are-“ the crack of a rifle and Jaskier’s face was splattered with blood.

Geralt jerked his head up and to his horror saw the crimson stain rapidly spreading across the ruffled shirt and waistcoat.

Duny had a surprised look on his face as blood trailed from his lips and he tumbled over the edge of the cliff.

Jaskier snatched at him as he fell, hand locking in a fistful of waistcoat. Duny’s weight pulled Jaskier from the cliff face and Geralt managed to hook his arm under Jaskier’s. He grunted as he was slammed against the rock, scrabbling for a firm foothold.

His muscles ached in protest as he clung to the cliffs, desperately keeping a tight hold of Jaskier.

The scene played again and again in his mind as his eyes blurred and his vision swam.

“G-Geralt,” Jaskier groaned brokenly, “I can’t. I can’t hold him.”

“Just hang on Jaskier. Hang on,” he couldn’t think for the thundering of his heart.

“Captain!”

Just below them stood Havi and Renfri on a jutting outcrop of solid rock.

“We’ve got him Jask,” Renfri shouted up, “Let him go.”

Jaskier’s breath rasped in his chest as he let Duny slide through his fingers. Havi took most of the weight and Renfri supported him. Geralt was able to pull Jaskier up and settled him back against the cliff face, his feet finding firm purchase amongst the rocks.

Jaskier was shaking, pressed hard against the cliff face, covered in Duny’s blood, eyes glazed over with shock.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said gently, “We have to keep going. The Red Coats are coming.”

“Right, yeah,” the look he gave him twisted something painfully in Geralt’s chest.

He offered his hand to the Captain and slowly, Jaskier took it.


	16. The First Drops Of Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my friend Phoebe who betad this chapter for me! As always comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!!

Geralt winced as he pulled on his black shirt over his head. The material brushed against his tender face, sending sharp prickles of pain through nerves he hadn’t known existed until now.

He glanced again at the looking glass Renfri had given to him after cleaning him up a few hours ago.

A long thin cut carved its way down the left side of his face. Starting just below his hair line, skipping over his eye, and ending half-way down his cheek. He was very lucky that his eye hadn’t been damaged. It wasn’t a particularly deep wound, but it would leave a scar. He had come off lightly all things considered. 

There was a numbness in his chest that spread through his limbs and weighed heavy in his heart.

He was very temped to lay back down on the bunk. Enjoy the solitariness of the cabin he had been brought into. Let the waves rocking The Lark sooth him into a much-needed sleep.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

Setting the looking glass down on the rumpled blankets, he tied his silver hair loosely off his face, then slowly made his way out of the cabin. 

Geralt’s stomach lurched with the ship as a particularly rough wave swept under her hull. The lanterns hanging on the walls were swinging back and forth, their hinges creaking slightly. 

The strong scent of the sea mixed with the thin smell of boiling potatoes. Life has to go on, he told himself. 

He gingerly made his way up to the top deck. He passed one or two of the crew but couldn’t meet their eyes, not ready to see the blankness reflected back at him.

The wind was gentle, barely filling the sails. There was precipitation in the air. Geralt could feel it coating the back of his throat with each shallow breath. The dark clouds above him illuminated by the first light of dawn promised rain.

He spotted Havi up in the crow’s nest, too far away to read his expression. A few of the crew milled about on the deck. Going about their tasks with sluggish intent. A couple of the freed slaves sat by the fore mast, wanting to enjoy the air instead of being cooped up below deck. Their elation drowned out by heavy sorrow.

Geralt swallowed thickly.

They had lost more than half of the slaves, including children, in the rescue attempt. Not only that, four of the crew had also lost their lives. Duny, Ben, and two others Geralt hadn’t known very well but still felt the deep ache of their loss. 

It had been his fault after all. 

In his life as a Pirate Hunter he had lost many people. It came with the job. Usually just collateral damage, even though he did his best to keep it to a minimum. But they weren’t people he cared about. Not people he had formed any sort of attachment to. He had repressed that part of himself for years. Caring about people made you weak, vulnerable. Caring clouded your judgement and distracted your focus. That’s how mistakes were made.

He bit back a sob as he stared at the horizon.

He didn’t know what to do with all the emotion churning in his gut and tightening his chest. He felt nauseous and heavy. He tried to force it away, like he always did. 

The boom of the main mast swayed softly overhead, searching out the wind then steadying when it was picked up again. He felt the ship tilting slightly under him, the new angle helping to direct the wind into the sheets of canvas, and he looked up to the quarter deck to see who was behind the helm.

Renfri tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she looked out from behind the helm. Everything about her expression and posture told him that she was exhausted. If he knew more about sailing, he might have offered to take over for a little while so that she could get some sleep.

Instead he joined her on the quarter deck, humming when she greeted him.

“You look dead on your feet,” Geralt grumbled, folding his arms across his chest and casting her a long glance.

“Thanks,” she said monotone.

“Hm.”

Renfri sighed.

“Don’t worry. Arran’s going to take over once dawn fully breaks,” she wilted. 

Geralt nodded, letting his amber eyes flick back across the horizon.

“Where are we headed?” he gruffed.

“George Town.”

“The Cayman Islands?”

“We’re taking Duny home,” her voice broke slightly, and she cleared her throat.

Duny’s body was the only one they had managed to recover from the battle and was currently laying below deck wrapped in linens. 

Before he could linger on that thought, Renfri nudged him with her elbow.

“Can you…check on Jaskier? He shouldn’t be alone right now and I…uh.”

“Of course,” Geralt said softly.

She quirked him a grateful smile before her face fell back into that state of blankness.

He tottered back down to the main deck and paused outside of the Captain’s Quarters.

He wanted to see Jaskier. It was a sureness that pulsed through his veins, and lessened the tension coiled through his body, and warmed in the pit of his stomach. But he hesitated before knocking, not quite sure what state he might find the Captain in on the other side.

When he got no response after his knock, he slipped into the cabin and closed the door behind him.

“Fuck off Geralt.”

Geralt inhaled sharply when he took in the young man. 

Jaskier was, for lack of a better word, a mess. He was lying on his back on top of his desk. His dark hair was all over the place. His cotton shirt was half untucked from his breeches and he was missing a boot, as if he had started taking them off but given up. His eyes looked slightly bloodshot and he was thumbing a quickly emptying glass of rum.

“Jaskier,” Geralt grumbled.

“No visitors today thank you very much,” Jaskier sing-songed as he stared up at the ceiling. 

“Are you drunk?” Geralt folded his arms across his chest, concern sparking through him.

“Not yet,” Jaskier said bitterly, “but that can be remedied.”

He pushed himself up slightly, gulped what was left in his glass, flumped back down, and felt about for the decanter on the desk beside his hip. In his half-coherent movements, he managed to nudge the decanter and as it toppled off the table, Geralt sprung forwards and caught it.

“Nice save,” Jaskier gave a lopsided grin, propping himself up slightly, not quite looking at Geralt, “Top me up, would you?”

Geralt ignored the offered glass and placed the decanter on a shelf.

“Well you’re no fun,” Jaskier pouted, hauling himself up and swinging his legs off the desk.

He sat there for a moment eyeing the decanter then sighed, deflating and keeping his gaze on his hands. He became very still.

“Jaskier,” Geralt tried again, “What happened? It wasn’t your fault.”

Jaskier’s face darkened.

“I thought I told you to fuck off,” he grumbled.

“I can go, if that’s what you really want,” Geralt gestured towards the door.

Jaskier blanched, his expression tainted with panic as he said almost too quickly, “No. I want you to stay.”

“Hm,” Geralt moved back to stand beside the desk, “Then talk to me.”

The young man was quiet for a moment, avoiding Geralt’s amber eyes.

“He only had a week Geralt. One more week and then return to his family for good,” Jaskier ran a hand through his hair, then lifted his gaze to finally meet Geralt’s.

A hitched noise escaped from him as his eyes blew wide and his body went rigid.

“God Geralt! Your eye!” he gasped, stumbling off the desk and reaching for him.

On reflex, Geralt caught his wrists before his fingers could brush against the sides of his face. Jaskier was close enough that he could feel his breath tickling his cheek. Those blue eyes fixed on the wound over his eye.

The seconds seemed to stretch until he eventually let Jaskier go, his heart thundering in his chest, soft affection for the young man in front of him pooling in his gut.

“I’ll be fine,” he rumbled, “It could have been a lot worse. And I have you to thank for my life.”

Jaskier looked away from him, leaning back against the desk, hands gripping tightly to the edge of the lacquered wood until his knuckles turned white. Sensing where his thoughts were going, Geralt perched beside him. Not quite touching but close enough to feel Jaskier’s warmth.

“This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault,” he hummed softly.

“I should have just waited. Three days and we could have got them all out, and Duny…Ben…” Jaskier’s breath sobbed in his chest and he blinked away the tears threatening to spill down his face, “We lost so many, all because I couldn’t wait. Because I wanted Havi back.”

“Your plan would have worked. It was working,” Geralt felt that guilt pang through him again, “It was me Jaskier. I fucked it up.”

Jaskier glanced at him questioningly.

“I chose not to kill the butler,” Geralt said thickly, “and I didn’t close the door properly to the basement once I was inside. He must’ve… moved or something. He was found.”

He had hoped that admitting his mistake would lift some of the pressure off his chest but instead, he just felt himself winding tighter.

“No Geralt. We should have just waited. I should have just waited. I was stupid, I was showing off,” Jaskier swallowed hard.

Geralt knew there was no convincing him, not at the moment anyway. He didn’t want to cause Jaskier any more pain. He tried a different tact. 

He nudged his leg against Jaskier’s and caught his watery blue gaze.

“Renfri said we are taking Duny home,” he blinked slowly at him.

Jaskier nodded.

“It’s what he’d want. It’s what he deserves,” Jaskier shuffled slightly and Geralt stayed quiet, giving him time to talk if he wanted to.

The whisper of contact between their shoulders sent a tingle of warmth through him.

“I saved him from an attack by bandits outside a tavern in George Town. He insisted on…on repaying the debt as he called it. I told him that he didn’t owe me anything but Duny is…was a man of honour,” Jaskier said quietly, his voice reedy with grief, “He wanted to serve as part of my crew as if I was some sort of Navy Officer or something. We agreed on a year. I promised his wife…God Geralt I promised her I’d bring him home safe.”

Jaskier was leaning into him now, their sides flush together, drawing comfort from the touch. Geralt hummed deep in his throat. The sudden urge to loop an arm around Jaskier’s shoulders should have taken him by surprise, but it was the most natural reaction and he frowned at himself as he pushed the urge away.

“He’s got a daughter…” Jaskier hung his head, falling quiet.

It was strange, Geralt thought, to see the Captain like this. He thought he had gotten to know Jaskier quite well but there was this whole side to him that Geralt was pretty sure he had never let the crew see. The fact that Jaskier was comfortable enough around him to show even the slightest semblance of vulnerability, sent a flurry of emotion fluttering through him that he couldn’t quite convince himself was purely friendship.

He suddenly found himself wanting to hear more of Jaskier’s voice. Even though it was pained and riddled with guilt, he couldn’t stand the stagnant silence.

“Tell me more about Duny’s family, where they live,” he grumbled.

Jaskier shifted against him.

“He uh, married into nobility. Pavetta, daughter to Lord Eist and Lady Calanthe. They own a plantation a few miles outside George Town, but uh, they pay all their workers. It’s Eist’s estate but Calanthe runs the business. Duny moved in with them after the marriage. I remember him telling me Calanthe had been completely against him in the beginning, but he had worn her down with his wit and charm,” Jaskier smiled slightly, “Their daughter Cirilla was born not long after. She must be…about twelve or thirteen now.”

Geralt felt a slight tightness in his chest. Duny had told him all of this before, during his first days aboard The Lark, he realised. He just hadn’t been listening to him.

“I’m hoping,” Jaskier continued softly, “That Calanthe might take on some of the people we rescued. I don’t have Chireadan’s contacts to get them all freedom papers, but she could offer them a good life, and in time, the ability to become freefolk.” 

“Hm,” Geralt was intrigued by this Lady Calanthe and hoped he would get the opportunity to meet her, even if it was under these circumstances. 

The silence was back but it felt more comfortable than before. They sat together, in the quiet, for a long time. Geralt could smell the rum overpowering Jaskier’s natural scent, but it wasn’t unpleasant, just there. Lingering between them. He listened to Jaskier’s breathing even out and he could see the young man’s eyes fluttering as his head lolled slightly.

Jaskier’s head bumped against his shoulder and he startled back to wakefulness.

“Sorry,” Jaskier mumbled, rubbing his face in his hands.

“You need to rest,” Geralt chuckled gently.

“Yeah,” Jaskier exhaled long and hard through his nose.

Jaskier turned to look at him. He was so close. Geralt could see the flush of alcohol reddening Jaskier’s cheeks. He could see the tiny subtle flick of Jaskier’s tongue as it swiped across his lower lip. He could see the different shades of blue that patterned Jaskier’s irises. God those beautiful, expressive, intelligent eyes. 

Jaskier shifted, their noses now almost touching. Those eyes searching his curiously.

Some unfamiliar feeling crept into Geralt’s heart. He had never felt so warm and full and content and it sent a shock of panic through him, choking him, and he jolted to his feet. Jaskier jerked back as if he had been slapped. 

“You need to rest,” Geralt growled, heart in his mouth, not quite meeting his eye.

The confused, almost hurt look Jaskier shot him flared in Geralt’s cheeks as embarrassment and caught in his throat as guilt.

“Don’t know if I can,” Jaskier said darkly, quickly composing himself, the intimate moment broken, and the stiffness returning to his body.

“Try,” Geralt frowned at him, the strange need to flee vibrating through him.

Jaskier glanced at the bed behind the partition then back at Geralt. He seemed about to ask him something but thought better of it. He shook himself, arms falling limply at his sides.

“Then leave me be,” he sounded defeated, his blue eyes hazy and dull.

Geralt wanted to stay. The tug in his heart was overwhelming. But the cabin suddenly felt very small and he felt very trapped and he couldn’t deal with the emotion rocketing through his chest and mind.

He gave Jaskier a curt nod and left the Captain’s Quarters. 

He regretted leaving the moment the door closed behind him. The sea air burned in his lungs. His blood thundered through his veins. His gut squirmed uncomfortably. He felt dizzy. 

The first drops of rain tumbled out of the sky and spit-spotted the deck of The Lark.

As his racing mind finally started to make sense of what he was feeling, a realisation slammed into him with enough force to punch the breath from him.

He spun on his heels and burst back into the cabin.

“Geralt?” Jaskier lifted his head in surprise. He was still leaning against the desk.

Geralt closed the space between them, barely registering the slightly alarmed expression on Jaskier’s face, tucked his fingers under the young man’s chin and captured his mouth in a quick, hard kiss.


	17. The Body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the love and support so far! Comments and feedback are always appreciated!!!

Jaskier stared at him, breath sharp and shallow, jaw slack with shock.

Geralt went to step back but Jaskier followed him, fisting his hands in the lapel of his shirt and crashing their mouths back together.

It was like fire and ice surging through him at once. His heart banging in his chest. His mind spinning as his hands came up to caress Jaskier’s cheeks, melting into him as the desperate kiss became fervent. There was an explosion of joy and excitement and warmth and…relief. 

He hadn’t known. He had no idea how Jaskier would react to being kissed, or even if he felt the same way. But he knew now.

A soft noise escaped Jaskier’s lips as he let his head drop to Geralt’s shoulder, hands still clinging to his shirt as if afraid Geralt might disappear if he let go. Geralt’s hands slipped down to rest on the small of Jaskier’s back and he pressed his face into the crook of Jaskier’s neck.

Geralt let himself feel, properly, fully, finally letting go, for the first time. It was raw and overwhelming, and he wanted to laugh, cry, scream, shout. The void deep inside him, the one he had been carrying for years and hadn’t really realised was there until The Lark. Until Jaskier. It no longer felt like a bottomless pit. That ache of loneliness finally ebbing into something he never thought he would find.

Geralt hummed in his throat as he tightened his arms around Jaskier, enclosing him in a warm embrace. Jaskier tucked his arms around Geralt, hands coming to rest on his shoulder blades, head still buried in his shoulder. 

Even the intimacy of a hug was too much for him. It was the most natural, human thing in the world and Geralt couldn’t remember the last time he had hugged someone, or been hugged by someone. It felt good. It felt safe. And he didn’t want to ever let Jaskier go.

Eventually, Jaskier shifted and leaned back. His blue eyes found Geralt’s and the soft smile on his lips had Geralt’s stomach doing flips. 

Jaskier trailed his fingers gently down the left side of Geralt’s face, taking great care to ghost over the long cut, brow furrowing slightly as he brushed Geralt’s cheek with his thumb. 

Geralt placed a hand on top of Jaskier’s, leaning into the warmth of his palm.

“It’ll be okay,” he rumbled, not sure if he was talking about his injury, or something else.

“You,” Jaskier hummed fondly, “Every time I think I have you figured out, you go and do something that flips it all upside down.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier smirked.

“A man of many words, as always,” he chided.

Before Geralt could respond, the call of “Land!” rang out from the quarter deck above them.

Jaskier pulled a face.

“Well that’s not fair,” he sighed.

Then his expression grew sombre as the thought of what was coming next flitted behind his eyes.

“I’m with you Jaskier,” Geralt blinked at the man slowly, his heart sinking and that familiar tightness returning to his gut.

Jaskier nodded, not quite meeting his gaze. He stepped back, letting his arms fall to his sides.

“I uh, I need my boot,” he mumbled.

Geralt could feel the warmth of the moment slipping away and tried to hold onto it for as long as he could. He watched Jaskier pull on his boot, then tuck the front of his shirt back into his breeches. Geralt really paid attention to the way his shoulders moved as he slipped on the grey waistcoat, how his nimble fingers buttoned it quickly, the planted position his feet took when he shrugged on his long blue coat. 

Jaskier ran a hand through his hair, trying to bring some sort of order to the messy locks, and took a moment to just breath.

Geralt bit his lower lip.

“Jaskier-“

“No, you don’t have to say anything,” Jaskier glanced at him, that tired expression slipping back into place, “We can talk properly later, because clearly, we do need to talk. But… first I have to do this and I… I want you with me when I do.”

The thought of trying to express himself in actual conversation made his guts turn to jelly and his heart pang in panic, but for Jaskier, he would try.

As for accompanying him to take Duny back home, he didn’t need to think twice about it. He nodded and felt giddy at the relief that filled Jaskier’s eyes. 

They lingered together a moment longer before Jaskier crossed the cabin towards the door. Geralt followed him, very aware of every breath Jaskier took. Before they emerged onto the deck, amber met blue and they were so close. It would be very easy to just lean in and kiss him again. Geralt wanted to. The thought sent a trill down his spine, but he hesitated. He had taken a risk before, and it had paid off. He didn’t now want to do anything to jeopardise what he was building here.

Understanding flitted across Jaskier’s face and his mouth twitched into a smile.

“You’re an idiot Geralt,” he hummed.

Geralt’s breath hitched in his chest as Jaskier brushed his lips against his own so softly, so feather light, he wasn’t sure it had happened at all. The tingle of warmth that spread through him again had his pulse elevating and his palms sweating.

“Come on,” Jaskier gave himself a slight shake then opened the door.

All of the crew were gathered on the deck. Huddled together just behind them, stood the slaves they had rescued. The seven from the clipper and the rest from the plantation. Every pair of eyes fell onto the Captain. Jaskier’s weary expression twitched into one of slight panic as he realised they all expected him to say something. He darted his tongue across his lips, fingers fidgeting as he climbed up to the quarter deck, nodding to Arran at the helm then turned to look at his crew, placing his hands on the balustrade to anchor himself.

The sun was slowly creeping up the sky, shimmering through the pattering rain and creating rainbows on the surface of the sea. 

The jagged outline of the Cayman Islands in the distance, steadily growing closer. 

Geralt stood beside Renfri who looked as if she had slept maybe an hour. He let his gaze rest on Jaskier who had composed himself carefully.

“I’m sorry,” his voice rang out, echoing off the rolling waves, “What happened yesterday was… You all deserve more from me. As your Captain. As your friend. Too many lives were lost. And they shouldn’t have been.”

Jaskier’s voice was steady but Geralt could see the tremble in his arms. 

“Friends. Family,” his blue eyes flicked to the huddled group of freed slaves, brimming with guilt, “I’m sorry.”

Geralt felt his heart constrict painfully in his chest.

“We honour them all, in our thoughts and in our memories but here, today, we can honour Duny by bringing him home,” Jaskier swallowed thickly.

There was a murmur of grief from the crew, a few of them nodding, a few with their heads bowed. 

“I will go ashore with him. Geralt has agreed to come with me. The rest of you I need to stay here on the ship. I need to know you are all safe. There is something of great importance I must discuss with Lady Calanthe and hopefully we will return successful,” Jaskier darted his tongue across his lips, then pushed himself away from the balustrade. 

“Captain Jaskier!” someone shouted from the crowd.

Geralt realised it was Havi.

“Captain Jaskier!” he bellowed again.

One or two of the men picked up the chant.

“Captain Jaskier! Captain Jaskier!” until the whole crew, even some of the rescued slaves were shouting his name.

Geralt joined in too. He could see the shimmer of tears in Jaskier’s eyes as he froze to the spot half-way down the steps back to the main deck.

He still had their love. He still had their respect. And Geralt felt a glimmer of warmth seeping through him at Jaskier’s bewildered yet humbled expression.

“Right you horrible little men,” Renfri called out, cutting the chant and putting her hands on her hips, “back to work. The ship won’t sail herself.”

There was a hum of agreement and the crew dispersed. Renfri dipped her head towards Jaskier as he joined them on the deck.

“You okay?” she asked him.

“I will be,” Jaskier glanced at Geralt who flashed him a rare smile, “We need to bring Duny up top. Once we dock, I’ll find a cart or something and we can take him home.” 

Renfri and Geralt followed Jaskier down to the cabin where Duny’s body had been laid. Being careful not to disturb the sheets, they lifted him carefully. Rigor mortis had set in and he was stiffer than a plank of wood which made manoeuvring him topside slightly awkward. None of them wanted to think about it. None of them spoke as they worked.

It was strange to think that only a few hours ago the man had been fighting by Geralt’s side, full of vibrance and bravery as he chopped down Red Coats. Geralt would never forget the look in his eyes when he realised he had been shot, the moment before he fell over the edge of the cliff. 

They placed Duny down beside the main mast, readjusting the linen he was wrapped in.

The port of George Town could be seen from the ship’s prow and Renfri took over from Arran, barking orders as the topsails were gathered in and they prepared to dock.

Geralt could see the rows of wooden buildings and the rise of a church steeple as they got closer to the town. Near the centre of the town the buildings were made of pink granite which clashed with the weather-beaten wood. Probably structures of importance like banks and homes for the richer civilians. Open moors surrounded the town with the scars of roads cutting through the wiry grass. The silhouettes of stately homes dotted sporadically across the moors, blotches against the dry green. 

Geralt wondered absently which one belonged to Duny’s family.

The harbour wasn’t particularly busy. There was a schooner docked just over from them and a few smaller sailing boats. One or two people milled about but it was quiet.

A Harbour Master bundled along the jetty as The Lark settled into the dock. He had his logbook propped open on one arm with his quill hovering over a crisp page. 

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at him and climbed down swiftly to join him.

Geralt couldn’t hear their conversation but he could see Jaskier gesticulating as he spoke, and the Harbour Master laughed. The Lark was indicated and Jaskier nodded, saying something that again had the other man chortling. A few coins were passed to the Harbour Master and the man pulled a face but Jaskier had a hand on his shoulder and was grinning at him as he rattled through more conversation. The Harbour Master nodded, scribbling something down in his book, snapped it shut and tipped his tricorne hat at the Captain.

As he turned his back on the young man to trundle back to his station, Jaskier flipped him the bird. 

Geralt joined Jaskier on the dock with a quizzical look.

“Wanted to charge me by the sail not by the hull length, fucking prick,” Jaskier snorted when he caught Geralt’s expression, “I also managed to convince him to not record the ships name.”

“Hm.”

“He also told me where we could hire a cart,” he said, the fire in his eyes dimming.

Geralt chewed the inside of his cheek, whishing there was something he could do to take away all the hurt that Jaskier felt so freely, without reserve or even attempt to push away.

Jaskier seemed to snap back into Captain mode after letting his gaze explore Geralt’s for a moment.

“Get Duny onto the dock, I’ll be back shortly,” he spun on his heel and marched away into the town.

Geralt watched him go with a heavy heart. 

With Renfri directing, they made short work of lowering Duny’s body off the ship. The crew gathered on the dock to watch his final disembarking of The Lark.

It wasn’t long before Jaskier returned and together they placed Duny on the rickety cart drawn by a complacent mule. 

Geralt patted the beast on its soft muzzle, its glassy eyes blinking at him lazily. He was reminded of Roach, his childhood horse, and absently touched the pistol at his hip.

“Apparently she’s sturdy,” Jaskier quirked an eyebrow at the mule.

“Ah I’m sure she is,” Geralt rumbled with affection. He became aware of Jaskier’s eyes on him as he fussed over the mule and he let his hands drop to his sides with embarrassment.

“Every time I think I’ve figured you out,” Jaskier shook his head, laughter bubbling in his tone.

His blue eyes were bright, and a smile danced on his lips but then Geralt could practically see him mentally scold himself as glanced back at the cart. His whole body wilted as his expression fell.

“We should get going,” he mumbled.

Geralt wanted to offer him some sort of comfort, but he didn’t know what to say.

He took hold of the mule’s bridle and fell into step beside Jaskier as they walked back through the town.

“How far is it?” Geralt asked, listening to the steady plod of the mule’s hooves.

“About three miles,” Jaskier peered along the road as if trying to spot their destination. 

The wooden buildings of the town became the rolling hills of the moors. The sun reached its peak, burning off the rain clouds and beating down on them with its unrelenting heat. The mule flicked her ears, swished her tail as flies bothered her. 

Jaskier filled the silence with a story about when he was last in George Town. Some slaver ship had been using the port as a rest stop and Jaskier with his crew had slipped in and liberated the slaves right under the Captain’s nose. Apparently, Keira Metz, a member of The Lodge, had put Jaskier onto the ship’s trail. A thought flitted into Geralt’s brain, but it was lost as quickly as it formed as Jaskier’s one-sided conversation switched topics to talk about The Lark and how he had her fitted for speed and stealth even with her maximum weight in the cargo hold. Geralt tried desperately to remember what it was, feeling that somehow it was important, but couldn’t for the life of him bring it back.

Jaskier had taken to singing. Some ditty about the King’s Navy falling foul of a storm.

Geralt understood Jaskier’s need to not think right now. There was an edge to his voice the entire time he had been talking and Geralt could feel the same tension coiling through his muscles. 

He knew Jaskier still blamed himself for what had happened. Geralt still carried guilt for his part too. And he spent the walk half listening to Jaskier and half working out what he was going to say to him when they had the chance to talk properly, after all this was over.

They came across the plantation quite suddenly. The road dipped behind a crest of hill and when they came over the rise, there it was.

The manor house took up most of the view. Behind the gates was a short drive that opened to the front of the house. A vast white brick house that had tendrils of vines growing against its walls. Its many shuttered windows were splayed open, and its slate roof seemed to gleam in the sunlight. 

Behind the house sprawled acres of tobacco fields, lined with bushy palm trees. Geralt could just about see a few workers harvesting the crop from where he stood.

There was a single man at the gate wearing a thin jerkin and a straw hat. He was perched on a stool under the shade of a small lean-to. There were no guards. Just this one man who hadn’t spotted them yet. He remembered what Jaskier said about the workers of this plantation all being paid. No need to guard property that might try to run away. 

Geralt tugged at the mule’s bridle, encouraging her to keep going and her bray brought them to the man’s attention.

“Hello sirs,” the man stood with a pleasant smile.

“Can you please tell the Lord and Ladies that the Captain of The Lark has come to see them?” Jaskier said, voice sounding tight.

“Watchoo got there?” the man eyed the white linen bundle in the back of their cart.

“Lord Urcheon,” Jaskier choked out.

The man’s face paled.

“Just wait here,” he turned and sprinted towards the house.

Geralt placed a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and Jaskier’s own hand came up to cover it. 

There was a commotion in the grand doorway of the manor and then a beautiful woman with billowing flaxen hair, and her skirts hitched up to the knee, came tumbling out of the house.

She stopped short when she saw Jaskier’s face, her eyes dancing back and forth between the Pirate Captain and the cart.

“No,” she squeaked.

“Lady Pavetta-“ Jaskier approached her but he was cut off as she slapped him. Hard.

Geralt felt his hand go instinctively to his sword but Jaskier threw him a look, hand clutching his cheek, redness spreading under his fingers. Geralt forced calm.

“You promised me. You promised,” she sobbed.

Her knees gave way and Jaskier caught her before she hit the ground. 

“I’m sorry. Pavetta, I’m so sorry,” he cradled her to his chest as she wept.

“Now then,” an authoritative female voice rang out.

Geralt tore his eyes from Jaskier and looked at the woman striding towards them.

Lady Calanthe was not dressed as one would expect for a woman in her position. Instead of flowing skirts she wore fitted breeches and knee-high boots. Her embroidered leather jerkin and lace collared shirt gave her a flare of elegance and she held herself with the esteem of royalty.

She was a severe looking woman who commanded respect with the very air she breathed.

She cast her gaze over Pavetta and Jaskier, then over Geralt with the cart. 

“Let us retire inside,” she said not unkindly, “I imagine there are a few things we must discuss.”


	18. The Warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You. Yes you reading this. Thank you so much for coming on this incredible journey with me! I love you and all the support given and I hope you enjoy this chapter!!

The drawing room Geralt had been shown into was uniform and pristine. 

The panelled walls were cream in colour and a patterned rug covered most of the wooden floor. A collection of high-backed armchairs huddled around the hearth on the back wall. Above the ornate marble fireplace hung a vast oil painting depicting some sort of battle scene. There was a table in the middle of the room, mahogany, with matching chairs. Above it, shimmered a delicate chandelier. A drinks cabinet inhabited one corner of the room, a large bookshelf in another. Not a spek of dust could be seen on the leather-bound volumes, nor anywhere else for that matter. Tucked away just beside the door, stood a rather polished suit of armour. There were no ornaments or trinkets, or family portraits dotted about which gave the room a slight impersonal feel. At the end of the room there were double doors leading onto a veranda with a spectacular view of the tobacco fields and the rolling hills beyond. 

Geralt had spent enough time in the presence of nobility to be unphased by the grandeur that surrounded him. What was tight in his expression right now was the fact that Jaskier had been taken into the study to talk with Lady Calanthe, Lord Eist and Lady Pavetta. 

He had wanted to go with him but Calanthe fixed him with a stern glare and told him to wait. Eist, dark haired and kind eyed, much gentler in demeanour than his wife, had insisted that since Geralt was a stranger to them, it would probably be better for this sensitive family matter to be discussed without him. Jaskier had thrown him an apologetic look and Geralt had let himself be ushered into the drawing room.

He was looking at the grid of rectangles cast onto the floor by the sun streaming through the windows, perched on the chair at the head of the table, elbows on his knees, silver hair creating a curtain around his face.

The door creaked open and his head shot up, but he frowned when his gaze met a pair of brilliant green eyes.

A young girl stood cautiously in the doorway. Her near-white hair in a simple braid over her shoulder and her navy dress slightly crumpled as if she had been scrabbling about in the undergrowth. By the looks of the dirt smearing her right cheek, that’s exactly what she had been doing. The girl stayed there, staring at him for a long time, then waltzed into the room.

This must be Cirilla, Duny’s daughter, Geralt thought to himself as she pretended to be interested in the titles of the books arranged on the shelf. Her eyes kept not-so-subtly flicking in his direction.

Geralt grunted.

He ignored her as she approached him slowly.

“You came with that other man. The one in the blue coat,” she titled her head at him. She stopped a few feet away from him.

Geralt twitched his head in a nod.

“He’s in the study talking with mother, grandmother and grandfather. I never get to join in with the grown-up conversations. They’re usually very boring anyway. But I know what they’re talking about. Father is dead.”

Geralt jerked his head up, face falling as he looked at her. Those green eyes brimmed with grief, but she was keeping herself very controlled. 

“Did you know him? My father?” she asked.

“Not as well as I should have,” Geralt grumbled.

She seemed to take a moment to think about this, reaching towards the oil lamp on the table and flicking the frilly covering. 

“Why is your hair white?” she hummed after a brief silence.

“It just is,” Geralt narrowed his eyes at her.

“Why are your eyes yellow?”

“They just are.”

“Why do you carry a sword on your back?”

“I just do.”

“What happened to your face?”

“Look kid,” Geralt gruffed with irritation, rising from his chair and going over to stand by the doors to the veranda, “I’m sure you’ve got something better you could be doing.”

She just shrugged at him, sitting in the chair he had been inhabiting.

“My name is Ciri,” she blinked at him, “What’s your name?”

“Geralt.”

He had spent plenty of time with nobility, pirates, merchants, towns folks, drunks, scholars, priests. Men, woman, people of all creeds, trades and walks of life. But children? It wasn’t as if he didn’t like children, its just his career as a Pirate Hunter had never brought him into those circles, and he had no interest in conversing with them. In his experience, most if not all children were underestimated by the adults around them, and always knew way more about what was going on than what the adults thought they did. Ciri for example. No one had told her that her father was dead. But she knew. To him, that made children dangerous to talk to, like spies. 

He realised that Ciri had asked him another question and was clearly waiting for an answer.

“What?” he grunted.

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Did you come on a ship?”

“Hm.”

“I want to go on a ship. I want to sail the seas and feel the wind and fight pirates and the King’s Navy and anyone who gets in my way,” there was a gleam in her eyes.

Geralt quirked an eyebrow at her.

She bit her lower lip, studying him for a second.

“Can I hold your sword?”

“No.”

“That’s okay. I’ve got my own one anyway. Grandmother is teaching me.”

Geralt would have been surprised but judging by what he was piecing together about Calanthe, it made sense.

“Can you show me some of your moves?” Ciri chirped.

“No,” Geralt snorted.

A few weeks ago, he would have told the young girl to just fuck off. He was still tempted. But being in her company wasn’t completely terrible and she almost reminded him of himself at her age, just minus the brutal training.

“You don’t talk very much,” she pouted.

“And you talk too much,” he grumbled.

Ciri pulled a face at him and he found himself smirking.

The door creaked again but this time, Lady Calanthe strode into the room.

“Cirilla,” she said with a hint of sorrow, “Your mother would like to speak with you.”

A sadness clouded over Ciri and she nodded. She scuttled out of the room with her head down.

Calanthe watched her go, then turned her hard eyes on Geralt.

“Where is Jaskier?” Geralt asked before she could speak.

“Talking with Eist. A matter of freed slaves I believe,” she didn’t look at him as she trailed her slender fingers over the upholstery of one of the armchairs.

“Hm.”

The way she carried herself, there was confidence and ease, and there was no doubt in Geralt’s mind that she was the Queen of this castle.

“He’s very fond of you. Jaskier, that is,” she said breezily but Geralt could sense the edge to her voice, “but it got me wondering. How does a Pirate Hunter such as yourself find themselves on the crew of a pirate ship?”

Geralt went rigid.

“Do they know? Does Jaskier know?” she said slyly.

His heart was thundering in his chest. He could barely breath, never mind form coherent thought.

“I recognised you immediately of course,” she stalked towards him like a cat toying with it’s prey, “the famous White Wolf. You’ve made quite a name for yourself among the circles of high nobility. So, it’s just very interesting to see you on the arm of a Pirate Captain.”

“I’m working a contract,” Geralt heard himself say.

Calanthe actually laughed at him.

“Maybe that’s how it started my dear boy, but I can see by the dread in your eyes that something changed along the way.”

Geralt’s mouth fluttered like a fish out of water. Panic tight in his chest.

Calanthe waved it off absently.

“It doesn’t matter to me. How can I judge when I’ve just spent the past hour or so consorting with a pirate,” she wondered over to the drinks cabinet and rummaged around, “Though I could use a man of your skill around here, I suppose working for me just wouldn’t compare to an exciting life on the high seas.”

She took a demijohn of dark red wine from the cabinet and poured herself a drink. She didn’t offer one to Geralt. Not that he cared, his mind was still reeling, and his heart was still palpitating too much to really notice.

“I will say this to you Geralt,” Calanthe blinked slowly at him, her voice tainted with menace, “One way or another they will find out who you are eventually. How merciful do you think they’ll be when they find out they’ve had a Pirate Hunter in their midst? ‘Oh, but Jaskier’s not like that. The crew are my friends.’ Ha! They are still pirates, Geralt. And you should know better than anyone, that no matter what their good intentions are, pirates will always be pirates. You need to be careful. Watch your back, because before long, a knife might just end up stuck in it.”

She took a long drink from her glass, keeping her eyes fixed on him.

Geralt felt his hands ball into fists. He didn’t want to admit it, but she was right. It was something that had been playing in the back of his mind ever since he stepped foot on The Lark. He had no idea what Jaskier would do. Maybe it would be better if he just came clean? Explained everything to him before he found out some other way and just hope that Jaskier cared enough about him for it not to matter. But there were so many ways that could go wrong and he didn’t want to lose everything he had gained over the last week or so.

Calanthe seemed to be enjoying his inner turmoil. 

“Well Geralt I think we’ve talked long enough,” she hummed, mirth dancing in her eyes, “You are both invited to stay the night of course. Dinner will be served at eight if you wish to join us.”

Geralt just stared at her.

“I will have a servant bring you up to your room,” Calanthe nodded to him as she left the drawing room.

The portly young man who came to fetch him had a pleasant smile and rich brown eyes. He tried to make polite conversation with Geralt as they climbed the staircase to the second floor. He quickly gave up when Geralt ignored him.

Geralt was half aware of the passing doors and exuberant artwork on the walls, still churning over what Calanthe had said in his mind. 

“Here we are sir. The Captain will have the room opposite. Will sir be joining us for dinner? A few hours yet but so that I know to lay a place for you at the table,” the servant bubbled.

“Fuck off.”

“Very good sir,” the man spun elegantly on his heel and bundled away.

Geralt’s new sour mood didn’t lessen any as he examined his quarters for the night.

A fairly modest guest room with a washstand and basin in one corner, a trunk at the end of the four posted bed and a tall free-standing mirror in the other corner. The rectangular shuttered window sat next to a thin wooden door than opened onto a small balcony. 

He was trying to put some order to the thoughts flitting about his head. Had Calanthe been genuinely trying to warn him? or did she just take pleasure in making other people squirm? Either way, Geralt had now been forced to deal with the very thing he had been deliberately avoiding and pretending wasn’t a problem. 

The notion to just climb down the balcony and run off to God knows where and just not deal with it did strike him, but the pang in his heart at the thought of leaving Jaskier behind kept him grounded.

He cared about Jaskier. He hadn’t meant to. He didn’t deserve to. And he definitely didn’t deserve to be cared about in return. Jaskier was a pirate but only in name. He proved every day that he couldn’t be further from the monsters Geralt usually hunted. But Geralt was a monster in his own right. A liar, vicious in the kill when he wanted to be, manipulative, numb to the emotions that might hinder the common man. At least, until recently. Jaskier made him better, but Jaskier deserved more. Suddenly the thought of escaping off the balcony seemed like the best possible option.

As he let these dark thoughts cloud over him, there came a tentative knock on his door, and he startled.

“Geralt?” Jaskier peeked into the room.

Geralt hummed in response.

“Ah! Good. I wasn’t sure if I had the right room. This house is massive and Eist was very vague with his directions. I almost-are you okay Geralt?”

Jaskier frowned at him and Geralt couldn’t take the concern in those bright blue eyes. Jaskier himself looked worn down and exhausted and Geralt was reminded that he hadn’t properly slept for at least two days. But he was asking if Geralt was okay, and the flutter of his heart clashing with the twist in his gut was more than he could bare.

He tried to mould the expression on his face into one of mild nonchalance but Jaskier wasn’t fooled.

Hand’s on his hips and eyebrows furrowed, the young man spoke softly.

“What’s going on Geralt? Talk to me?” when Geralt didn’t respond, he narrowed his eyes, “Did Calanthe say something to you? I mean, usually she means well but she tends to be rather straight forward in conversation.”

“I’d noticed. It’s nothing Jaskier. She was just wondering how I came to be on your crew,” another half-truth. He cursed himself. Before Jaskier could say anything else, he asked, “So how did it go? With them all, and with Eist?”

Jaskier deflated and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“As well as could be expected,” he sighed, now sounding as tired as he looked, “I explained what happened and they’re going to hold a funeral for him at the end of the week. It was made very clear that we aren’t invited.”

There was a slight bitterness under the sorrow and Geralt placed a hand on his shoulder. The look Jaskier gave him melted away all the worries and thoughts he had been fighting a moment before. He felt quiet and peaceful and dammit, how was this man able to do that to him? Even just his presence made things feel better, and Geralt knew that somehow everything would be okay.

“Sorry Jask,” Geralt hummed.

Jaskier shrugged but then stilled.

“That’s first time you’ve called me that,” his face lit up slightly.

Geralt fumbled with embarrassment. 

“I uh…”

“No. It’s fine. It’s more than fine. It’s great,” Jaskier beamed at him, catching Geralt’s hand as it fell from his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. 

The pressure of Jaskier’s fingertips sparked through his skin like fire and Geralt swallowed thickly.

Geralt was struggling to process the feeling heating his core, so he opted to change the subject instead, taking his hand back to feign a stretch.

“And Eist?”

“He’s agreed to take them on. So, any that want to, we are to bring them here tomorrow around noon,” Jaskier smiled softly, “The estate will house them, clothe them, feed them, pay them a fair wage for their work. The slave trade in the Cayman Islands is practically non-existent so they won’t have to worry about being picked up. They’ll be safe here. He also said that he’d work at trying to sort out freedom papers but that’ll take time.”

“Good,” Geralt hummed.

“Eist is a good man,” Jaskier stuck out his bottom lip, “And Calanthe’s a good woman, when she wants to be.”

“I met Ciri,” Geralt perched on the bed next to Jaskier.

“Oh?” Jaskier glanced at him, “And how did that go? I’ve never officially met her, but I feel like I know her. Duny would talk about her all the time.”

“You’d absolutely get on with her,” Geralt rumbled.

“Why’s that?”

“Because she doesn’t shut up.”

Jaskier laughed, such a good, rich sound and it had Geralt grinning.

“What are you trying to say?” Jaskier bumped him with his shoulder.

“Nothing,” Geralt feigned innocence.

“Maybe you should talk more,” Jaskier eyed him playfully, “It would make you less boring.”

“Boring?” Geralt scoffed, “Ouch. You cut me real deep Jaskier.”

“I swear Geralt, sometimes I get better conversation out of a brick wall.”

“Okay, you need a nap,” Geralt hummed, slightly serious.

“You need a nap,” Jaskier retorted but, as if on cue, he had to stifle a yawn and Geralt couldn’t help but watch the way his body arched with the action.

Geralt shifted beside him, anticipating the young man looking for a hand to get to his feet but instead, Jaskier flopped back onto the bed. 

“You room is across the hall?” Geralt frowned at him, not sure if it was confusion or something else bubbling in his chest.

“Yes, but that’s over there,” Jaskier waved his arm in the direction of the door, “And I’m over here.”

“Jaskier-“

“Just lay down with me Geralt. Please?” there was a vulnerable look in Jaskier’s eyes and the unspoken words of ‘I need you’ had Geralt’s entire body tingling.

Slowly he climbed onto the bed next to Jaskier, very unsure of what he was doing, and lay back, fingers folded over his stomach, gazing up at the canopy of the four-poster bed.

Jaskier sighed contentedly, seemingly happy with their current position. Enjoying the closeness without it having to lead to anywhere. 

This was very new for Geralt. He had spent nights in the company of whores when the need struck him but never had he just shared a bed with someone without the expectation of something more. 

It was safe and intimate in a whole new way. 

“Thanks, Geralt,” Jaskier murmured sleepily.

“For what?” Geralt glanced at him.

“For not leaving me alone,” a soft smile played on the young man’s lips as his eyes fluttered shut.

Alone. 

That word was not something Geralt associated with Jaskier, but then, a person could be surrounded by people and still feel lonely. Could that be possible? He still had so much to learn about him.

Well, he thought to himself happily, neither of us are alone now.

He listened as Jaskier’s breathing slowed, watching the way his chest rose and fell, the way his fingers twitched as sleep claimed him. All the pain and guilt and grief Jaskier had been carrying melted off his face and he looked peaceful. 

Geralt reached out and brushed a lock of hair off Jaskier’s forehead. Jaskier didn’t stir.

As he blinked slowly at the man next to him, he felt sleep tugging in the back of his eyes. He settled back, letting his breathing match Jaskier’s. If you had told him even a week ago that he’d be here, now, falling asleep next to the man he cared deeply about, he would have laughed and probably tried to commit you to an asylum. 

But here he was, and as his drifted away, his thoughts were filled with blue eyes and gentle touches and kind smiles and soft words.


	19. The Sort Of Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always folks comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!

Geralt woke with a start.

The unpleasant dream he had been having still echoing in his head as he tried to work out where the fuck he was. 

As his pulse slowed and his breathing evened out, he recognised the canopy overhead and he collapsed back into the bed with a shaky sigh. 

The little guest room was shadowed in darkness. The hazy light of the moon filtered softly through the shuttered window. There was the faint scent of a roast joint in the air and Geralt’s stomach growled when he realised they had missed dinner.

He shuffled slightly, glancing at Jaskier who was curled up on his side, breathing softly as he slept. Geralt allowed himself a small smile as he looked at the man for a moment, but the cobwebs of his dream still clung to his mind and he pulled a face as he carefully rolled himself off the bed and slipped across the room.

He quietly opened the door to the balcony and stood out in the humid night, hands gripping the railing, looking out towards the horizon.

The heavy air felt thick in his lungs with each breath, but he tried to keep focused on it to stop his mind from wondering. 

He didn’t want to think about the fact that he had just spent the last few hours asleep in the same bed as Jaskier. He didn’t want to think about how the peace and the safety and the contentment he felt was tainted with the guilt and the uncertainty he had been ignoring. He didn’t want to think about Calanthes words and what they meant, not just for him, but for Jaskier and even his crew as well. He didn’t want to think about how the trust and relationship he was building with Jaskier could come crumbling down around him, all because of who he was.

Geralt tightened his grip on the railing until his knuckles turned white.

He glared across the tobacco fields, when something just below him caught his attention.

There was a small figure, brandishing a stick and hopping about along the edge of the nearest field a few feet from under his balcony.

Flaxen hair caught the moonlight and Geralt frowned.

“Ciri?” he called down.

The girl looked up, beamed then waved at him.

“Geralt! You’re awake too!” she chirped.

“What are you-?”

“I’m coming up!” Ciri discarded her stick, ran across to the ivy clad wall, gave the vines an experimental tug, then started to climb up them.

“No, you don’t-fuck,” Geralt grumbled as she swung herself over the balcony railing and landed deftly beside him.

“It’s okay. I do it all the time,” she puffed up with pride.

Geralt folded his arms across his chest. Why me? he thought irritably.

“Why are you up?” she asked him, head tiled to the side slightly.

“Why are you up?” he retorted.

Her face fell slightly.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she mumbled, “I had a bad dream… about father.”

Geralt softened. 

“I’m sorry,” he hummed, then after a pause, “I had a bad dream too.”

“What about?”

“I don’t really remember now,” he shrugged. It wasn’t a lie, all he really remembered about it was the state of panic he had woken up in.

“Well I always remember my dreams,” she huffed, “And sometimes-“

“Keep it down. Jaskier’s asleep,” Geralt growled, the thought of Jaskier’s rest being disturbed panging strangely in his heart.

“Oh,” Ciri peered into the room, “Why is he in your bed? Is he your boyfriend?”

“No!” Geralt gruffed a little harsher than he had intended, “He’s…I don’t really know yet. It’s still very…new?”

“Does he love you?” Ciri felt the need to prod him and Geralt scowled at her. She flashed him a smile, “Does he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you love him?” the young girl asked innocently.

“I…” Geralt paused. Did he? He wasn’t even sure if he knew what love was, what it felt like.

Ciri didn’t wait for an answer. She hopped back up onto the railing and sat confidently, swinging her legs back and forth.

“Mother says that you should always tell someone if you love them,” she hummed.

“I…can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because…there is something I haven’t told him. About who I am.”

Ciri gazed at him, her green eyes wide and bright.

“Well I think you should tell him,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Ciri,” Geralt blanched at her words, “You don’t understa-“

She glared at him. Fierce and defiant. She reminded him of Calanthe.

“If you don’t tell him, you’ll never know,” she said sharply.

“I’ll never know what?”

“If you’re in love with each other,” she rolled her eyes as if it were obvious, “If you love him, you should feel awful for lying to him, and if he loves you, whatever it is you tell him won’t change how he feels.”

Geralt swallowed thickly. How could this girl, this child, be so unbelievably annoying, yet so fucking wise at the same time? How could she possibly know?

He felt a lightness in him. An ease to the tension. But he was still hesitant. It just wasn’t that easy.

Ciri looked at him, an amused expression on her face.

“Adults are so dumb sometimes,” she grinned.

“You have no idea,” Geralt agreed.

Seeming rather pleased with herself, Ciri scooted back over to the vine covered wall and waved at him.

“If I get caught out of bed before dawn I’ll be in trouble,” she sighed, “I’ll see you later Geralt.”

Geralt watched her go with a growing fondness. She climbed down the vines as nimbly as she had climbed up and disappeared from his view.

He chewed his lower lip. It just wasn’t that easy. Even if Jaskier did love him… he couldn’t dare to hope. He had done nothing to deserve such affection. Ciri was right. Not telling Jaskier the truth, it made him feel awful. 

A noise behind him had him spinning round.

Jaskier was leaning on the doorframe, a soft yawn falling from him as he blinked at Geralt with sleep foggy eyes. His hair was tousled, and a gentle smile graced his lips.

“Who were you talking to?” he hummed, “I thought I heard voices.”

“Would you believe me if I said Ciri?” Geralt rumbled.

Jaskier chuckled, tucking his hands into his coat pockets. 

Geralt just looked at him. He was glad that Jaskier couldn’t hear the quickening of his heartbeat or the way his breathing suddenly tightened. But there must have been something in his expression because Jaskier’s face lost its softness as concern clouded him.

“Are you okay Geralt?” 

Fuck, Geralt cursed silently. Out loud he said, “I’m fine."

Jaskier came to join him, resting his forearms on the railing and peering into the night.

“You’re lying,” he said stiffly, keeping his blue gaze focused on something in the distance.

Of course he knew that Geralt was lying. He had seen through every lie since the beginning. Since he had first asked to join the crew. Guilt panged through Geralt.

“Jaskier-“ he sounded too defensive and he hated the way Jaskier flinched.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, “ he sounded small, casting his eyes down, looking at his hands, shoulders slightly hunched, “But Geralt, I thought… after everything that’s happened between us…I thought we…”

Geralt felt the question form in his throat but he couldn’t ask it. Jaskier glanced up at him and the look on his face broke Geralt’s heart.

“I just thought I meant more to you than that,” there was a sadness tainting Jaskier tone.

That hurt more than he’d like and Geralt scrambled for words as his chest constricted painfully.

“You do. Jaskier. Fuck. It’s not-there’s something-“ he sucked in a breath through his teeth.

He thought about what Ciri said. Really thought about it. He didn’t want to push Jaskier away, but he knew that he was already starting to. He had to fix it. He had to get over the fear and the uncertainty because Jaskier deserved nothing less. The truth. The whole truth. And if he didn’t do it now, he knew he never would, and he would lose the one thing he was trying desperately to hold onto. He just had to hope that wise little girls knew what they were talking about.

“Jaskier, I have to tell you something,” Geralt bit his lower lip, his heart speeding up in his chest, “I’m…not who you think I am.”

Amber eyes met blue and Geralt had to work very hard to stop his brain from shutting down and backing out of this.

“I’m…I’m…” he swiped his tongue over his dry lips.

“You’re a Pirate Hunter.”

Geralt’s world slammed to a halt. It shattered into a million pieces. It imploded before his eyes. His blood ran cold, his stomach dropped, he forgot how to breath. 

“You-how-“ he stammered, his brain trying to catch up.

Jaskier sighed, an apologetic look on his face.

“I knew who you were the second I first laid eyes on you in that tavern in Nassau,” Jaskier blinked up at him, “The White Wolf. Butcher of my kind. I’d heard enough stories.” 

“If you knew…why did you let me join your crew?”

“Eh, I was curious. Intrigued by you. I couldn’t help myself. I knew I must have been your contract the moment you stepped onto my ship. It would have been easy. There was only Ben on the deck. But you didn’t kill me. Instead you tried to spin me some story about a Lord and I wanted to see how long you’d keep that up,” Jaskier’s eyes darkened slightly, “It was a game to me Geralt. I was playing with you for my own amusement. Then came the storm.”

Geralt turned his head away, a lump in the back of his throat. Jaskier leaned away from the railing and ran a hand through his hair.

“There was a moment, in the crow’s nest, when I thought you were going to let me fall. And I felt so stupid because… I don’t know, maybe I’d hoped that under the brashness of the tales, you were a good man. But then, you saved my life. And everything changed.”

“Everything changed,” Geralt ground his teeth together, jaw tense, “So you knew? This whole time?”

“Yes Geralt. I knew.”

“Does..?”

“The crew? No,” Jaskier fidgeted with his fingers, “And I don’t intend to tell them. Not yet.”

“Why?” Geralt heard himself ask.

“Because I’m still trying to figure out…us,” Jaskier frowned slightly, pointing back and forth between them. 

“Us?”

“I care about you Geralt. I tried not to but failed miserably. I hadn’t been sure you felt the same way. But then you kissed me and the only thing I could think was how on earth did this happen? How the hell did I get from keeping a wary eye on you to wanting to be your…everything?” his voice broke slightly on the last word and he forced himself to look away, to compose himself. 

Geralt found his hand on Jaskier’s arm and when their eyes met again, there was a warmth in Jaskier’s face that set his blood on fire.

“Jaskier I’m no good with… with feelings. Expressing them. I spent my entire childhood and young adult life being taught how to ignore and repress any and every emotion I felt because they made me weak. But since meeting you I think I’ve felt every damn emotion under the sun and… and it’s a lot,” he grumbled sheepishly.

“Yeah, I’d noticed,” Jaskier’s smile was playful.

“I was taught to never form attachments. Never get close to anyone. That caring for people made me weak, vulnerable. I just accepted it. I always thought that I never needed anyone. And I definitely didn’t want anyone needing me,” Geralt grunted, leaning on the railing with his head almost in his hands.

“And yet, here we are.”

Geralt glanced up at him. Jaskier twined their fingers together. He was bright and beautiful, and he was still there, wanting him, needing him. Heat spread through him from his core.

“So, me being a Pirate Hunter doesn’t change anything?” he asked slowly.

“No, it doesn’t, because it doesn’t define who you are. You are so much more,” Jaskier leaned into his shoulder, letting his eyes drop to their joined hands, “I mean… are you still a Pirate Hunter anymore?”

“I don’t know,” Geralt clenched his jaw, his relief at Jaskier’s reaction, the thrill of what it meant, mingling with the uncertainty of what happens now?

The first light of dawn broke on the horizon, scattering them with drops of gold. The light caught in Jaskier’s eyes making them sparkle with the new day.

The warmth of their hands together, the pressure of Jaskier’s shoulder against his, the thrumming of Geralt’s heart in his chest, the intensity of the blue as they gazed into amber.  
Jaskier’s eyes flicked over the healing wound tracking down the left side of Geralt’s face. He let Jaskier gently brush his thumb across his cheek, skin growing hot under his touch.  
Unable to bare it any longer, he pressed his lips to Jaskier’s in a chaste kiss. The little noise that escaped Jaskier sent a spark through Geralt’s gut as the young man melted into him.

Jaskier’s hands came up to find purchase on the back of Geralt’s neck. Geralt’s hands trailed down to rest on Jaskier’s hips, guiding their bodies flush together as he accepted Jaskier’s probing tongue. The young man tasted sweet and hot and there was the lingering tang of alcohol. Geralt groaned into his mouth and the vibrations had laughter bubbling from the Pirate Captain.

Geralt kissed the corner of his mouth, trailing his lips up his jaw and pressing his nose into Jaskier’s neck just below his ear. Jaskier’s breath hitched in his chest as Geralt pressed a firm kiss to the sensitive skin. Geralt felt the tremor roll through the young man’s body and he smirked, gliding his mouth back to find Jaskier’s lips again. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier hummed, pressing their foreheads together and taking long slow breaths.

Both kept their eyes closed as they shared the same air and Geralt matched the rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest.

They stayed like that for a time, closely pressed together, arms wrapped around each other, rocking slightly from side to side. Geralt could feel Jaskier’s fingers at the base of his skull, twirling with his ashen hair.

He sighed contentedly. He could think of nowhere else he’d rather be than right here, right now.

All of his worries and concerns seemed silly now. Trivial. None of it mattered anymore because Jaskier knew and was still by his side.

He could hear the noises of the manor house waking up and kissed Jaskier’s cheek, then his temple, then finally leaned back. 

“What are you doing to me Jaskier?” he rumbled affectionately, flicking his amber eyes over his face, trying to memorize every detail. 

“Was just about to say the same thing,” Jaskier grinned. 

“Do you think…?”

“What?”

“Do you think they’ll give us breakfast?”

Jaskier laughed.  
“Well apparently you swore at their man servant so don’t get your hopes up,” he smirked.

Geralt grumbled and Jaskier brought his hands down to rest against Geralt’s chest. He fiddled with the lacing of his black shirt, tongue poking out slightly between his lips. 

“We should probably get ready to head back to The Lark,” Jaskier sighed, keeping his gaze on his busy hands, “I need to talk to everyone we rescued, find out what they want to do.”

Geralt pressed his nose into Jaskier’s hair and he heard the young man hum at the contact. 

“Fine,” Geralt grinned, “as long as we stop in past the kitchens first.”


	20. The Ballad of the Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey gang, again a huge thank you for the love and support so far! Comments and feedback are always appreciated :)

Lord Eist had come with them back to The Lark. 

He insisted on meeting the freed slaves himself, so that he could answer any questions they might have about their new home if they chose to go with him. 

Pavetta had bid them a polite fair well, Calanthe by her side watching Geralt with a pointed look. Geralt had been a little disappointed that Ciri hadn’t come to say goodbye. 

But he hadn’t been able to linger on it for long as they quickly set off back to George Town, mule and cart in tow, Eist very enthusiastically giving them the history of the manor, and Jaskier slipping Geralt a few slices of sweet bread he had pinched from the kitchen. 

The morning sun beat down on them with its stifling heat and Geralt couldn’t wait to get back to the breeze of the open ocean. The air was unbearably still on the main deck of The Lark and beads of sweat dripped off his nose as he helped the crew prepare to cast off.

Jaskier was on the dock with Havi talking to Eist. The freed men, women and children huddled around them. Three of them had asked if they could join Jaskier’s crew, Tumaini among them, and Jaskier had enthusiastically agreed. 

Once settled with sleeping arrangements, Renfri had paired them with other crew members to show them the ropes. 

The Quarter Master watched Geralt and Jaskier with interest when they arrived with Lord Eist. Her expression bordering amusement. She knew something had changed between them, but Geralt hoped he could avoid talking to her about it until he had properly worked out what it truly meant for himself.

Jaskier climbed on board The Lark, patting Havi heartily on the back, then waltzed over to join Geralt by the foremast. There was a sorrow still lingering between Jaskier and Havi, and Geralt wished they could have had a chance to honour their dead properly. 

Geralt resisted the urge to pull him into a tight hug, instead smiling widely at the Captain as he approached.

“That’s a good look on you,” Jaskier grinned as Geralt fastened the last of the ropes, just how Duny had taught him, he realised. 

“What is?” Geralt grunted.

“Hard work.”

“Fuck off Jaskier,” Geralt sneered at him.

Jaskier laughed.

“I’m joking,” he nudged Geralt’s shoulder playfully, “No its…I like it when you smile.”

Geralt quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” Jaskier scoffed, “I’m a song writer, there’s much worse.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Jaskier feigned offence, mouth agape, hands on his hips. Before he could fire back with what would have been an intelligently witty response, Geralt was sure, they were interrupted by Renfri.

“Sorry Captain but it appears we have a stowaway,” she turned her head towards the girl she was holding by the arm.

Ciri glared back, as if hoping Renfri would burst into flames if she stared hard enough. 

Geralt scowled at the girl. Jaskier just shook his head with a soft smile.

“I found her trying to sneak into the cargo hold,” the Quarter Master huffed.

“Thank you Renfri. I’ll deal with her,” Jaskier said not unkindly but Ciri winced all the same, “Could you catch up to Eist? They’ve only just left. I’ll send her along in a moment.”

Renfri nodded and left Ciri at the mercy of the Captain.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, “Please don’t throw me overboard!”

“And why on earth would I do that?” Jaskier frowned at her.

“Because you’re a pirate,” she hung her head sheepishly.

“Indeed. Well, here’s what I’m going to do. If you tell me why you tried to hide on board my ship, I won’t throw you off it. Deal?” Jaskier raised an eyebrow at her and she nodded frantically.

“I um… I wanted to goodbye to Geralt,” she blinked quickly.

“Nice try,” Jaskier folded his arms across his chest. 

Even Geralt knew she was lying and fixed her with a glare that she seemed to understand.

“I wanted to come with you. Sail the seas. Like my father did,” she glanced up at Jaskier, green eyes bright in the sunlight.

Jaskier melted, a flash of grief crossing his expression.

“I understand. But a pirate ship is a dangerous place,” he said softly.

“I can look after myself!” she said indignantly, “And I would be safe with Geralt.”

Jaskier glanced at Geralt who flushed slightly.

“Oh, I know you can. You managed to get on board The Lark without being seen and I am very impressed,” Ciri puffed up with pride at Jaskier’s words, “And Geralt likes you. He protects the people he likes. But you can’t come with us.”

Ciri deflated, a pout forming on her lips. Geralt was trying to work out what to say to her but Jaskier placed a hand on her shoulder, keeping eye contact.

“I think your mother, and your grandparents, would miss you very much. And besides, who else can they rely on to look after the estate with them?” he hummed.

Ciri took a moment to think about this.

“Can I maybe come with you some other time?” she asked hopefully.

Jaskier’s smile twitched into a grin.

“Maybe,” he said, “But like I said, a pirate ship is a dangerous place. So, you’ll need to be very good with a sword first.”

“Grandmother is teaching me!” Ciri squeaked, “And I’m getting better. I’ll practice every day, and I’ll show you how good I am the next time you’re here.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Now you should probably go and catch up with your Grandfather.”

Ciri looked to Geralt, then rushed up to him and hugged him tight. Geralt grunted in surprise but he returned her embrace, rolling his eyes at Jaskier’s wink.

“Geralt,” she hummed quietly, “I like him.”

“Me too,” he whispered, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear awkwardly. 

“Goodbye Geralt. Goodbye Jaskier,” she stepped away from them, excitement in her eyes.

“Until next time Ciri,” Jaskier beamed at her.

They stood together side by side, watching the girl give them a last wave before jumping off The Lark.

“How did you know what to say to her?” Geralt gruffed.

Jaskier shrugged.

“She just wants to be involved,” he hummed, “At least she’ll have something to focus on now.”

“Will you come back for her?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” Jaskier glanced at him, “She’s too young right now anyway. In a few years? Who knows?”

“Hm.”

He spotted Renfri bounding elegantly across the deck, calling orders as she went and Jaskier sighed.

“Join me by the helm Geralt,” Jaskier strode off and Geralt fell into step beside him, “Hopefully we can catch the breeze once we are further out at sea.”

“What’s our destination Captain?” Geralt climbed the steps to the quarter deck and watched Jaskier settle behind the ship’s wheel.

“Don’t know yet,” he peered up towards the cloudless sky, “I just want to put some distance between us and dry land.”

Geralt nodded.

“Are we ready Renfri?” Jaskier called.

“Aye Captain,” she shouted from her perch halfway up the rigging.

With Havi in the crow’s nest and the crew in their positions, Jaskier gave the order and The Lark disembarked from the dock.

The Captain was humming something under his breath as they slowly crawled away from George Town.

“Something new?” Geralt asked him.

“Perhaps,” Jaskier cast him a long side glance, “What rhymes with wolf?”

Geralt felt his cheeks redden.

“Are you writing a song about me?” he mumbled, not sure if he was mortified or flattered.

“Not directly,” the Captain smirked.

As they ventured further out into open water, the breeze off the sea took the edge off the thick heat. Geralt let out a relieved sigh. 

“Full-sail,” Jaskier ordered, “Lets see if we can catch this wind.”

As the sheets of canvas billowed and the booms of the sails swung back and forth, Geralt felt a tight knot in his chest he hadn’t really been aware of finally release. 

He had grown up at Ker Morhen, spent a lot of time with the other Pirate Hunters, but he had never really belonged anywhere before. Here, standing next to Jaskier, part of The Lark’s crew, it was starting to feel like home.

“And it called to him, sweet, the ocean melody,  
But the paws of a wolf weren’t made for the sea.  
And he watched as his heart sailed out of sight,  
And he howled his great sorrow well into the night.”

Jaskier sang under his breath, watching the rolling waves with clear blue eyes.

Geralt felt his gut clench and his heart skip a beat and every nerve in his body tingle.

“That uh… part of your song?” he rumbled quietly.

Jaskier flicked his eyes to him, a thoughtful expression lighting up his young face.

“Meh,” he shrugged, “Needs work.”

“How do you do it? Write songs I mean?”

Jaskier gestured vaguely at nothing in particular.

“It just sort of…comes to me. Sometimes it’s lyrics. Sometimes it’s part of a tune. Sometimes it’s both. Ditties and shanties are easy because they’re mostly about tits and beer, and appeal to a very vast audience,” he smirked, “But ballads are more like…poetry. They tell a story and there’s nothing more satisfying than when a line comes and it’s just right.” 

“Hm.”

“Have you never tried to write a song before?” Jaskier titled his head slightly, “Even just a few lines for someone you love?”

Geralt couldn’t meet his eye, the echo of past loneliness rolling through him.

“Oh. Really? No one?” Jaskier looked a little ashamed of himself for exposing Geralt like this.

“During my training with the Brotherhood of the Wolf, we are taught that love makes you weak,” he swallowed hard at Jaskier’s frown, “So I cut myself off from it. Pushed away any feeling that arose for someone else. But uh…I might try and write something…for you.”

Jaskier lit up and looked so genuinely touched that tears formed in his eyes.

“Geralt, that must be the loveliest, sappiest, cheesiest thing anyone has ever said to me,” his choked voice broke with bubbling laughter, “And from the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

Slightly awkward and embarrassed, Geralt flashed him a small smile.

“Every time I think I’ve got you figured out,” Jaskier beamed at him, “I’ll make a poet of you yet Geralt.”

Geralt laughed.

“Good luck with that, you’re going to need it,” he rumbled.

“Sorry to interrupt…whatever you doe-eyed idiots are talking about, but the crew are wondering where we are next making port,” Renfri had joined them on the quarter deck, an exasperated look on her face.

“Doe-eyed?” Jaskier scoffed, “Excuse me but-“

“Come on Jaskier, I’m not blind. I think I knew before for either of you two did,” her hands were on her hips as she rolled her eyes.

“Right. Good,” Jaskier looked sheepish as he struggled to find words.

Geralt shuffled self-consciously, and Renfri smirked at them.

“Well Captain? Where are we headed?” she chirped.

“Maybe back to Kingston? I’m running low on my favourite rum,” Jaskier shook himself, finding that balance between authority and nonchalance again.

“Good shout. I think we all need something to lift our spirits,” Renfri nodded in agreement.

Kingston. The Lodge. Geralt remembered the thought that had escaped him…the other day? the day before last? He couldn’t remember, so much had been happening, but it burned through him now with importance.

“Jaskier,” he said a little louder than he intended, making both Jaskier and Renfri jump, “Who knew about the slaver ship and then the meeting with Chireadan on Crooked Island?”

“Uh, what?” Jaskier blinked at him.

“You, me, the crew, The Lodge, right?”

“Geralt what are you saying?” Renfri frowned at him.

“You said that there wasn’t a spy on this ship. You were certain. Why?” Geralt pushed.

“Because…” Jaskier tried to cast his mind back, confusion at Geralt’s sudden outburst fogging his brain, “Because the crew didn’t know where we were going until I told them.”

Understanding lit up in his eyes.

“You told them here, on the deck. None of them would have been able to pass the information on even if they wanted to because we were already at sea,” Renfri caught on to what he was saying.

“But Lord Cumberland knew exactly where we were and sent his Red Coats to intercept us,” Geralt spoke quickly, “So how could he have known?”

“Everything that happened… the slaves? Duny? It came from someone on Phillipa’s end!” Jaskier stiffened.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Geralt said triumphantly. That was it. He had wanted to make this better somehow and he had found the answer. Jaskier could let go of his guilt, as could Geralt. They could mourn Duny and the others and move on peacefully instead of having it haunt them for the rest of their lives.

But it wasn’t a look of relief on Jaskier’s face. It wasn’t comfort. It wasn’t elation. Hell, it wasn’t even gratefulness.

It was pure, dark, rage.

“Jaskier?” Geralt grimaced, his stomach dropping and a chill prickling over his skin.

“Renfri, tell the men we are setting a course for Kingston,” Jaskier’s voice was hard, body rigid with tension, “I have business with The Lodge to attend to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come and say hi to me on tumblr!!
> 
> https://dont-tempt-me-frodo.tumblr.com/


	21. The Beginning Of The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!!

When Geralt was five, he had been snatched off the streets, a poor little orphan boy, and thrown into the back of a cart with more boys of a similar age.

When he was seven, he got caught stealing an apple from the kitchens and was beaten within an inch of his life. 

When he was ten, Geralt had accidentally killed another boy in a sparring match. He was told that the boy had been too slow. 

When he was thirteen, he was sent out into the wilderness to use the stars to navigate back to the Fort. He had gotten lost for four days.

When he was fifteen, he had his first lay with a woman, a whore paid to service the young men of the Brotherhood. 

When he was sixteen, he was given his first pirate to hunt down and kill. The mistakes he made cost him the life of a young woman he had grown attached to. Never again, he had told himself.

When he was nineteen, he took on his first official contract independent of the Brotherhood.

When he was twenty-five, well. It didn’t matter anymore. By this point, he had stopped feeling fear altogether. 

All those moments and many more, all very different, all connected by one thing. 

And they were nothing compared to the fear he now held tightly inside him, looking up at the young Pirate Captain behind the helm. 

When his mentor, Vesemir, got angry, the whole room shook with his rage. 

When Eskel got angry he was very physical. Pacing, flipping tables, spoiling for a fight.

He had never seen this type of anger before. 

Jaskier was cold. Still. Unsettlingly and oppressively silent. His eyes were hard, and his jaw was tense. There was an energy radiating from him that the rest of the crew kept clear of. Even Renfri gave her Captain a wide berth. Any time she had to talk to him, she received a flick of those dark eyes and nothing else.

Concern, worry, uncertainty. That fear in him wasn’t of Jaskier. It was of what he might do. The Pirate Captain was capable of absolutely anything right now, unpredictable, and Geralt had no idea what to expect from him.

He hated it. He hated that he couldn’t find the right words to even begin attempting to talk to him. He had been trying to make things better. He had hoped that he might even get a moment alone with the young man to really make sure he understood that what had happened wasn’t his fault. But instead he had unwittingly given Jaskier something to focus all that hurt and guilt and pain onto, and he dreaded to think what might happen once they set foot in Kingston.

When the port had finally come into sight after the day and a half of good wind in their sails, Renfri finally built up the courage to join Jaskier on the quarter deck.

Geralt almost followed her but hesitated by the steps. He didn’t want to make things worse if Jaskier didn’t like what she had to say.

The chill in the breeze and the clouds overhead echoed in the dark expression ghosting Jaskier’s face as he listened to his Quarter Master. 

Geralt couldn’t quite make out what she was saying to him, but he could see the whiteness of Jaskier’s knuckles as he gripped the helm tightly. 

He swore he saw Jaskier’s demeanour falter slightly, his expression twitch, his shoulders slump. He swore he could see the raw emotion choking him as he let his mask slip. But then it was back in place, as quickly as it fell, and he pushed himself away from the helm. Renfri caught it and held it still.

Geralt practically jumped out of his way as the Captain stalked along the deck and fixed his gaze on the harbour. As The Lark was brought into the dock and the crew started to make preparations to anchor, Jaskier’s head bowed slightly and his breathing was slow and heavy.

Cautiously Geralt approached him. 

“Jaskier-“ he tried softly.

“Are all the crew on deck?” Jaskier growled.

“Aye Captain,” Geralt bit his lower lip.

Jaskier jumped up onto the side of the ship, using the rigging to keep himself steady and addressed the crew of The Lark.

“Everyone is to stay on board. I have business in the town, and I don’t intend to stay longer than I have to,” his voice was low and thick, “I want her ready to set sail again the moment I come back.”

Before anyone could stop him, Jaskier hopped down onto the jetty and marched off in a flurry of blue coat.

Geralt stood frozen to the spot, heart aching, mind reeling. He felt a nudge against his ribs.

Tumaini blinked up at him, dark brown eyes huge and wary.

“Go after him,” she tilted her head towards the dock.

Geralt swallowed hard.

“He shouldn’t be alone right now. He needs you,” the young woman implored.

He cast a glance in Renfri’s direction. She was giving orders to drop the anchor and gather in the sails.

“I will tell her where you go,” Tumaini placed a gentle hand on his arm.

Geralt nodded and vaulted the side of the ship. He quickly ran the route to the brothel through his mind and set off after Jaskier at a pace that wasn’t quite a run but carried his urgency with every step.

He saw Jaskier disappear under the arch just ahead of him and he jogged to catch up.

“PHILLIPA!” Jaskier roared as he thundered into the courtyard like a bull in a china shop, scattering clients and whores as he barged his way through. 

Geralt paused to catch his breath under the archway, trying to pin-point the Captain’s location among the startled faces.

His blood ran cold.

As Jaskier stormed past one of the tables, a man, merchant from the looks of his clothing, stood with an air of bravado and approached Jaskier from behind. 

“Look here, whoever you are,” the man started, snide confidence clear in his voice and burly posture. He stood a good head taller than Jaskier and was twice as broad.

His hand came up to grab onto Jaskier’s arm.

Jaskier glared at him over his shoulder.

“Remove your hand or lose it,” he seethed.

The man, the idiot, Geralt groaned, actually laughed at him. He clearly thought this was a fight he could win.

“Now who do you think you are?” the merchant scoffed.

As if in slow motion, Geralt saw the split section where Jaskier snapped.

There was a dangerous flash in Jaskier’s eyes. He caught the merchant’s arm, twisted it painfully up his back and slammed him face first into the nearest table.

Geralt’s heart leaped in his chest as his stomach knotted.

Jaskier pressed his knife to the exposed skin of the man’s wrist. A ripple of shock sounded from the crowd and Jaskier glared at them, as if daring them to try him.

“Phillipa! Get yourself out here now or I swear to God I will fucking take this man’s hand off,” the Pirate Captain snarled.

The man under him whimpered and Geralt tried to force his way through to… he didn’t really know what. Stop Jaskier? Back him up? His pulse thudded in his ears.

“Jaskier, let him go,” rang out a female voice.

Yennefer descended the stone steps, elegant in a dark purple dress, and a hard expression twisting her beautiful features.

“And stop terrorising my customers.”

“Where’s Phillipa?” Jaskier spat, fixing the woman with a cold glare as she paused by the desk.

“Not here. Business in Barbados. Won’t be back for weeks,” Yennefer said coolly, keeping herself composed even though her eyes betrayed her anger. 

A muscle in Jaskier’s jaw twitched.

“Join me in the parlour and we can talk in a civilized fashion,” Yennefer indicated the door behind the desk.

“Jaskier,” Geralt hissed at him, tone pleading.

Jaskier’s attention snapped to him, realising for the first time that Geralt had followed him. His grip on the man he still held against the table loosened slightly and Geralt could see that pang of raw emotion again in his blue eyes.

“Let him go,” Geralt chided.

He was very aware of some of the men in the crowd with their hands hovering over the hilts of their swords and he knew it wouldn’t take much more to push them into attacking. The static of tension crackled through the air.

The seconds seemed to trail by until finally-

“Fine,” Jaskier growled, fully releasing the merchant who scrambled away from him and sheathing his blade.

Geralt let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding. As did Yennefer.

“Free round of drinks for all,” she called out. 

There was a murmur of approval, the patrons still shaken by what had just happened.

Jaskier stalked after Yennefer. Geralt hurried to him, catching him before he followed her into the little parlour room.

“Jaskier, please,” he grumbled quietly, laying a tentative hand on the young man’s shoulder, “I know you are angry and upset but-“

“Self-control. I hear you Geralt,” Jaskier rolled his eyes at him, mouth a tight line.

“No, I just…I don’t want to see you do something you’ll regret.”

Jaskier blinked at him, the rage falling away for the briefest of moments.

“Well that’s not fair,” he frowned.

“What’s not fair?” Geralt’s face furrowed with confusion.

“That look you’re giving me,” he mumbled, “You shouldn’t have come after me Geralt…but I’m glad you did.”

Affection for Jaskier spiked through his chest and Geralt wanted to just gather him in his arms and hold him and tell him everything was going to be okay. I’m going soft, he thought to himself, but maybe I’m okay with that.

Before he could do anything about it however, Yennefer stuck her head back round the door.

“Are you coming? Or do I have to kick you out for indecent behaviour?” her condescending tone had Jaskier bristling again and Geralt cursed the woman silently.

He followed Jaskier into the parlour room.

That same smell of lavender hit him and Geralt felt his head swim slightly. Relief that the situation out there hadn’t escalated, apprehension that the situation in here might spiral in a similar way.

He watched Yennefer perch on the high-backed chair as Jaskier stood opposite her, stock still, blue eyes blazing in the light of the torches bracketed to the walls, hands clenched by his sides in tight fists.

There was a moment of highly charged silence until Yennefer broke it.

“I heard from Chireadan about what happened on Crooked Island and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You’re sorry? Well that is just brilliant. Everything is fixed. Everything is right in the world,” Jaskier rounded on her, “Hooray for me. I can just put it all behind me because you are fucking sorry. Thank you, Yennefer, that really is a load off my mind.”

“Jaskier-“ she tried.

“I lost four of my men! And thirty-seven slaves in the rescue attempt!” Jaskier shouted, his whole body shaking with the fury and pain he’d been so quietly containing for past few days.

“It didn’t end on the island did it?” Yennefer flicked her violet gaze to Geralt who shook his head.

“Cumberland knew. He knew we were intercepting his shipment of slaves and he sent his Red Coats to get them back. They took one of my men in the process and there was no way I was leaving him in the mercy of those bastards,” Jaskier bared his teeth in the beginnings of a snarl, “Cumberland knew.”

Yennefer was gripping the arms of the chair tightly. Her face taut with contained indignation at what Jaskier was implying.

“You were betrayed,” she said stiffly.

“The Lodge has taken on someone who can’t be trusted,” Jaskier folded his arms across his chest, the thunder in his expression making Geralt’s gut twist unpleasantly.

“Oh, you’re one to talk!” Yennefer rose sharply to her feet, facing off with the Pirate Captain, “Having a Pirate Hunter in your midst? How trustworthy is he Jaskier, huh? He was the one who probably sold you out."

Jaskier stiffened in shock. Geralt felt sick to the stomach. His mouth went dry, and he mind stopped working.

“Yes, we know who you are Geralt. The Lodge keeps tabs on all the Pirate Hunters operating in the Caribbean,” Yennefer sneered at him, “Triss saw you leaving the Governor’s manor in Havana. The famous White Wolf. When you turned up here with Jaskier, nothing was said because Jaskier tends to know what he is doing. But how wrong he was.”

Geralt did not like the look she had fixed him with. It made his skin crawl and his core burn.

“Geralt has not, and will not betray me,” Jaskier said slowly, voice full of danger and menace, “You do not know the first thing about it and my business is exactly that. Mine. You can drop the idea that Geralt or any one of my crew is a traitor because none of them, none, knew where we were going until I told them all out at sea.”

Yennefer glowered at him, looking equally as dangerous, but she seemed to accept what Jaskier was telling her.

“So, you think the information came from one of my girls,” she said pointedly, settling slowly back onto the chair, disbelief and mirth in her eyes.

Jaskier darkened at her expression.

“The Lodge has a rat. Or a mole. Or some other…fucking rodent type…thing. Anyway, the point it, this is on you,” he grit out.

“That is impossible,” Yennefer snipped, “The only members of The Lodge who knew about the slave ship were Triss, Francesca, Phillipa and myself. And I can assure you that each one of us would rather die than betray The Lodge.”

“So, if it wasn’t one of mine and it wasn’t one of yours, who was it then?” Jaskier snapped irritably.

“I’ll look into it,” the woman said tightly. She addressed Jaskier but her unnerving gaze was on Geralt.

A chill shot down Geralt spine and he tried to hide his foreboding with a scowl.

“You’ll look into it,” Jaskier sneered, “Of course you will.”

“I do not take this lightly. Your accusations are very serious and if, IF, the information leaked from The Lodge, I will find and punish whoever is responsible,” she said haughtily, “However, if I don’t find anything, what then? You are adamant that your crew are innocent, but can you be absolutely sure?"

“Yes.”

“Then we have nothing further to discuss,” Yennefer dismissed him.

Jaskier didn’t move, obviously still wanting to say more but with every second his anger petered out and was replaced with a sudden weariness. 

Geralt couldn’t stand the dejected expression on his face as he wilted. He knew the anger was still bubbling under the surface. It translated in every stiff movement but with the matter not resolved but addressed at least, there was nothing more he could do, and the fight left him.

“Come on Geralt, I need a drink,” Jaskier grumbled, turning to leave.

“Actually, I’d quite like a word with Geralt before you go,” Yennefer piped up, keen eyes dragging over him.

Geralt felt tingly with alarm but Jaskier just rolled his eyes.

“You don’t need to threaten him or anything. He won’t betray The Lodge’s secrets,” he huffed.

“Just to be sure,” Yennefer’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Geralt?” Jaskier quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Go, I’ll catch up,” Geralt heard himself gruff.

“Fine. There’s a tavern on the main street. The Speckled Swan. I’ll be there,” Jaskier lingered a moment, hesitant at leaving Geralt behind, then disappeared back into the brothel.

“What do you want Yennefer?” Geralt folded his arms across his chest, trying to come across as nonchalant and disinterested.

“You need to be careful who you talk to in my brothel, and how loudly you speak,” she said, dropping the half-pleasant expression, “I get all sorts in here. You never know who could walk through the door next.”

“What are you talking about?” the frustration edging his tone.

“You spoke to one of you kin when you were last here,” she hummed, coming closer to him, her perfume, lilac and gooseberries, tickling his nose, “I always take note of customers of importance. Do you want to know who else I took note of that night?”

Geralt was trying to control the wave of apprehension and panic threatening to choke him. 

“At the table, next to you and your handsome friend, sat a man. An agent of the Governor of Havana. The Governor who hired you to put a stop to the disruption of his trade. The trade that his dear friend Lord Cumberland was expecting a shipment of within the next few days.”

Geralt went cold with dread as he started to piece together what Yennefer was telling him.

“And this agent, overheard you talking about a certain Pirate Captain, the Pirate Captain you were supposed to kill, the Pirate Captain who you had waltzed in here with not a moment before. The clever little man obviously put two and two together because somehow Lord Cumberland knew about the interception of the slave ship and decided to do something about it.”

The guilt was near painful. So, it was his fault after all. After warning Eskel not to interfere and thinking he had avoided one problem, he had created another. Another that had cost them the lives of many and had nearly cost him his relationship with Jaskier. 

His heart hurt. His gut squirmed. 

“You knew, but you didn’t tell him,” he heard himself ask, “Why?”

“Because it’s something you should tell him,” Yennefer shrugged.

This was…he couldn’t slow his racing mind down long enough to catch up.

Yennefer waved him away and he left the brothel. Numb, in shock, stumbling his way towards the main street and the tavern where Jaskier sat none the wiser. 

What would Jaskier do? That thought alone terrified him more than he could ever have imagined. He didn’t know if their relationship would survive this, especially with Jaskier still so highly strung. Things had been good. And now… and now the only thing Geralt knew what that he couldn’t and wouldn't lose Jaskier.

The bustling noises of The Speckled Swan seemed distant, as if he were hearing it through a wall.

He spotted Jaskier at the bar, well into his third pint, miserable until he saw Geralt and his face lit up.

No don’t look at me like that, he wanted to scream.

“You okay?” Jaskier asked, eyes slightly hazy, “Yen wasn’t too hard on you?”

“Hm.”

“What did she want with you anyway?” Jaskier peered into his tankard.

“Just like you said. To warn me not to betray The Lodge.”

“Ha!” Jaskier smirked, not really focused on Geralt as he flagged down the barkeep for more beer, “Predicable.”

Geralt thumbed the tankard pressed into his hands, rigid, heart frantic in his chest.

“Well, here’s to achieving fuck all and drowning our sorrows in hops,” Jaskier bumped their tankards together and chugged mouthful after mouthful.

Geralt couldn’t bring himself to drink. He had lied and gotten away with it. Jaskier, usually so astute and observant, betrayed by the alcohol he couldn’t seem to get into his body quick enough. 

Somewhere between the brothel and the tavern, he had decided not to tell Jaskier. He had no idea what would happen if Jaskier ever found out. 

It was his fault. Duny, the other crew members, the slaves. All his fault. 

And little was he to know that this new lie would be the beginning of the end.


	22. The Break in the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy again folks! Thank you so much for the support so far. Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!!

After several more tankards of beer and Jaskier nearly starting a bar fight with a merchant who had looked at a barmaid the wrong way, Geralt had hauled the Pirate Captain out of the tavern and was half-supporting him, half-carrying him as they made their way back towards The Lark.

Jaskier was switching between nonsensical babbling and singing highly off key some song about a catfish or a batfish or something, Geralt wasn’t sure because Jaskier kept changing the lyrics. Not that he was particularly listening anyway.

There was a deep, tight ache in his chest that threatened to choke him with every breath. 

He could still tell him in the morning. He could use the excuse that Jaskier was drinking and wanted him clear in his thoughts. It wasn’t too late, he tried to bargain with himself, he could still do the right thing.

Geralt tried to focus on that thought as he helped Jaskier along the dock.

The young man was lamenting about the moon on the surface of the water, comparing it to the silver of Geralt’s hair rather loudly and unashamedly. He was trying to put his words into a tune and Geralt was just glad that he probably wouldn’t remember very much of this in the morning.

“Why is your hair that colour Geralt? I don’t think I’ve ever asked you,” Jaskier frowned at him as they stopped by the Lark, speech strangely coherent considering the amount he had had to drink.

“Hm.”

Jaskier swayed slightly against him as Geralt signalled to Renfri on the deck. She had been looking out for them.

“Is he okay?” she called down, concern evident in her face.

“He’s been drinking. Help me get him onboard.”

“Renfri? Is that you?” Jaskier blinked up at her.

“No, it’s the King of France,” she rolled her eyes, leaning over the side of the ship to grab at Jaskier’s arms.

“Well your Majesty, you sound an awful lot like my Quarter Master,” Jaskier pouted.

Renfri pulled, Geralt pushed, and together they managed to tip Jaskier, who was not helping at all even though he insisted he was, onto the deck. 

Renfri caught him before he sprawled to the floor and he beamed up at her.

“Ah it is you,” he looked at her with nothing but affection in those big blue eyes, “Shh don’t tell Geralt but you’re my favourite.”

Geralt grunted as he hopped onto The Lark and took Jaskier from Renfri again.

“We’ll stay for the night,” Renfri sighed, folding her arms across her chest as she took in her Captain, “I managed to appease the Harbour Master, so we have at least until dawn.”

“Thank you. I’ll get him settled. Try and get some sleep Renfri,” Geralt hummed at her.

She nodded, a slight slump in her shoulders.

“Goodnight dear Shrike,” Jaskier waved at her as Geralt guided him over to the Captain’s cabin.

Geralt bundled him inside and clicked the door shut behind them.

“Did you know Geralt, that a shrike is a bird?” Jaskier stumbled with him towards the bed, “Do you know what else is a bird? A lark.”

“Very astute of you,” Geralt gruffed, sitting the young man down heavily on the bed and knelt down to take off Jaskier’s boots.

The only time he had ever helped someone like this was Eskel. He had gotten smashed off his face after a hunt went horribly wrong and he lost a bunch of civilians. Geralt had made sure that his brother in arms got back to his room in the tavern safely and made him comfortable before letting him sleep.

Except this time, there was a hand on his shoulder and a pair of blue eyes gazing at him softly. Geralt swallowed the lump in his throat as his gut fluttered and a heat crept through him.

He helped Jaskier out of his coat and waistcoat, trying not to get irritable with him when his arms got stuck, and placed the garments over the partition. 

Jaskier rambled the entire time. Nonsense mostly, musings at the world around him.

Geralt paused, glancing at Jaskier quietly.

“You have very pretty eyes,” Jaskier smiled at him, “Like…like the…yolks of freshly cracked eggs.”

Geralt snorted.

“Are you saying I have egg eyes?” he rumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jaskier pulled a face.

“Yes. No,” he scowled in thought, “They are like…like dandelions.”

“Sober you is much better at this,” Geralt smirked, letting the constricting feeling in his chest lessen lightly.

"Pft. You're just jealous of my poetic art-artist-artistitary."

"Easy for you to say," Geralt chuckled. 

Jaskier hummed pleasantly then tried to assemble his expression in what Geralt had to assume was an attempt at seduction.

“Come over here and kiss me,” Jaskier blinked at him.

“No.”

Jaskier pouted.

“Why?” he whined.

“Because you are drunk.”

“And you are not,” Jaskier sighed, “What a shame.”

“Get some sleep Jaskier,” Geralt made to leave but Jaskier went rigid and something crossed his face that twisted Geralt’s heart.

“Can you just…stay with me?” the pleading in his tone was very clear and Geralt wilted.

“Fine.”

Jaskier brightened, patting the bed beside him and Geralt sat down.

Geralt cast him a long glance then laid back on the bed.

Jaskier watched him, his hazy expression betraying his affliction, a happy smile resting on his lips.

Geralt flushed slightly under his soft gaze. 

“I think I’m very lucky Geralt,” Jaskier hummed.

“Why’s that?” Geralt gruffed.

“Because you care about me.”

“Hm.”

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“Can you just…hold me?”

There was something so vulnerable in his voice that Geralt felt a quiver roll through him. He nodded slowly and opened his arms out, inviting Jaskier in.

The young man tucked himself against Geralt, head resting on the joint of his shoulder, one hand trapped between them, the other coming to rest on Geralt’s chest. Geralt shifted slightly so that he could enclose Jaskier in his arms. Underneath the cloud of alcohol, he could just about smell the soap Jaskier used. Orange blossom and sandalwood.

They slotted together so perfectly and holding him like this felt so right. The steady thud of Geralt’s heart picked up slightly.

Jaskier was solid and warm and his fluttering breaths tickled Geralt’s neck. He nestled into him, fingers curling into Geralt’s shirt, and it wasn’t long before he was sleeping.

Geralt wanted to cry. The intimacy of the moment overwhelming him along with the guilt still playing in his mind. 

I’ll tell him tomorrow, he promised himself.

He let the rhythmic rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest wash over him and slowly he too fell asleep.

The delicate light of dawn tricking through the windows woke him. Geralt narrowed his eyes, blinking and frowning in his grogginess. This wasn’t his hammock.

As wakefulness kicked his brain into gear, he remembered where he was, and he became very aware of the gentle breathing next to him. He sighed, relaxing back into the pillow, as that warm, fluttering feeling coursed through him again.

Geralt turned slightly, being careful not to wake Jaskier, and took a moment to just look at him.

At some point in the night they had rolled apart.

Jaskier was on his side facing him. Soft and peaceful and utterly beautiful. All the pain and rage as if they had never existed.

As he watched the young man sleep, he couldn’t help but reach out and brush a lock of that dark hair behind his ear.

Jaskier stirred, not opening his eyes.

“Are you watching me sleep?” he husked.

“No,” Geralt grumbled.

“Creep,” Jaskier smiled, cracking open one eye.

Geralt brushed his cheek with the pad of his thumb, pausing at the corner of Jaskier’s mouth and then tracing his soft lips.

Jaskier hummed under his touch and let his eyes flutter shut again.

“How’s your head?” Geralt’s deep voice vibrated in his chest.

“Meh, I’ve had worse,” Jaskier smirked, eyes still closed. 

Geralt shuffled closer until their noses touched, enjoying the closeness and comfort of the moment. 

Jaskier peeked at him under long lashes.

“I didn’t do anything too…bad last night did I?”

Geralt chuckled.

“No, but Renfri might want a word.”

“Brilliant,” Jaskier groaned.

Geralt pressed a gentle kiss to Jaskier’s forehead and the young man sighed softly.

“You missed,” he hummed.

“What?” Geralt rumbled. 

“You missed,” Jaskier flashed him a brilliant smile and captured Geralt’s mouth with his own.

The kiss was slow, lazy almost, and it had Geralt tingling. He tucked an arm under Jaskier to draw him closer, the other hand cupping his cheek. Jaskier hummed into his mouth as his own hands tightened in Geralt’s shirt.

Geralt flicked his tongue against Jaskier’s pliable lips and a soft noise fell from the young man as he let Geralt deepen the kiss. Jaskier tasted of lingering beer but he didn’t care as he felt Jaskier practically melt into him.

Jaskier leaned back slightly, breathing a little harder than before, blue eyes mapping every inch of Geralt’s face, a small smile playing his lips, his thumb very gently brushing his cheek and tracing the edge of the scar tenderly.

“Thank you Geralt,” he murmured, “For last night. For coming after me. For getting me back again.”

Geralt couldn’t do it. He couldn’t destroy the look of absolute devotion Jaskier was giving him. It was selfish. He was selfish. Guilt panged through his chest, but he forced it away, pretended it wasn’t there, let himself get lost in those blue eyes instead. 

He didn’t tell him.

“Are you okay Geralt?” Jaskier’s brow furrowed slightly.

A sense of panic shot though him. 

“No,” he said honestly, then, again with a half-truth, “I’m just thinking about us. The future.”

“I’m a pirate Geralt,” Jaskier grinned at him, “Live for each day. I never really give much thought to what comes tomorrow, but…who knows? I guess… I’ve been thinking more about us too.”

Geralt couldn’t bare the sentiment in Jaskier’s expression so he pulled Jaskier into his chest and cocooned him in his arms. He felt Jaskier bury his face into the crook of his neck and had to control the sob threatening to escape him. 

“What a pair we are,” Jaskier mumbled into his skin, “The Pirate Captain and the Pirate Hunter.”

They just held each other for a while. Laying on the bed, the rising sun slowly warming up the room. 

Geralt concentrated on slowing his heart and controlling his breathing and pushing down unwanted emotion like he had been doing for years. 

He could stay like this forever. Curled up with this man, safe and comfortable and hidden away from the outside world. He wanted it so much his heart ached.

As the morning wore on and the ship began to wake, they eventually parted and ventured out of the Captain’s quarters in search of something to eat.

Jaskier had cleaned himself up in the little wash basin he had tucked away in the corner of his cabin and was now dressed in a fresh cotton shirt, navy waistcoat and grey breeches, with his long blue coat dancing around the tops of his worn leather boots. 

Geralt could tell he was hungover by his careful and controlled movements, and the way he winced slightly in the beating sun but those were the only signs Jaskier gave that showed he had even been drinking at all. 

Relief exuberated from the crew as Jaskier greeted them in passing. Their Captain was more himself again, and there was a cheerier air about the ship instead of the dower mood of the past day or so. 

Paul was still serving breakfast on the deck below and enthusiastically handed Jaskier and Geralt a bowl of porridge. 

“Gots me a small bag of sugar in the morning market,” he puffed up with glee, “Sweetened the oats today.”

They sat alone at the table and Geralt was hungry enough to actually consider eating the thick slop in his bowl.

It was like trying to eat wall plaster, with a hint of sweetness that took the edge off the bland.

“Say what you like about Paul’s cooking, but it doesn’t half kill a hangover,” Jaskier pulled a face as he swallowed a thick mouthful. 

Geralt snorted.

“Morning Captain,” called Renfri as she came up from the deck below, “How do you fare this morning?”

“Eh, can’t complain,” Jaskier shrugged.

“Did you find what you were looking for in The Lodge?” she perched on the bench next to Geralt and polished off the rest of the porridge he had stopped eating.

“Not really. But I’m too tired to get into a fight with Yennefer,” he sighed.

Renfri nodded in understanding and nudged Jaskier under the table.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she grumbled.

“Sorry,” Jaskier hung his head slightly.

“Thank God for Geralt,” she kept her eyes narrowed at the Captain.

Jaskier hummed in agreement, his eyes flicking to Geralt with a playful warmth.

Geralt felt hot under the collar, and not just from the look Jaskier was giving him.

“We’ll have to set sail soon,” Renfri drummed her fingers on the table, “I don’t think the Harbour Master will let us stay too long.”

“What did you say to him?” Jaskier quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Nothing pleasant,” she smirked apologetically.

“Captain?” Havi peered down from the main deck, “You have a visitor.”

Jaskier glanced at Renfri who shrugged.

He rose to his feet and scampered over to the steps leading up top. Geralt followed him with Renfri on his heels.

Geralt nearly crashed into Jaskier’s back from his abrupt halt.

“Ohohohoh no. No. We are not doing this today. Thank you so much for stopping by but I’m really not interested,” Jaskier clamped his hands to his hips.

In front of him stood Yennefer.

Geralt felt his gut clench.

She flicked her violet eyes between Geralt and Jaskier, then fixed Geralt with a pointed look. She knows I haven’t told him, he thought.

“Morning Jaskier,” she drawled, fiddling with the sleeve of her sleek black dress.

“What do you want Yennefer? Because unless it’s about what we spoke of yesterday, I have nothing more to say to you,” Jaskier grit out.

“I received intel about a convoy on it’s way to Havana,” Yennefer ignored him, taking a good long look at the ship about her.

“Reliable intel?” Jaskier snarked.

The woman glared daggers at him and Geralt placed a careful hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. He felt the man untense slightly at his touch which only sent another surge of guilt through him. The comfort Jaskier drew from him making him feel worse.

“The Royal Galleon is due in Havana within the next week. It is flanked by a man-of-war and several brigs,” Yennefer composed herself, “There is something onboard that ship which is vital to the intel The Lodge is gathering.”

“You’re kidding right?” Jaskier scoffed, “And anyway, I go after slavers. That is our arrangement.”

“The Galleon is also carrying slaves-“

“Mother of-“

“-and you won’t be tackling it alone.”

“Oh really? And who else are you sending on this mission of death?” Jaskier huffed.

“A few vessels with Captains who work for The Lodge. One in particular that you know quite well. I believe his brig is called Three Jackdaws?”

“Bollocks.”

Geralt heard Renfri’s intake of breath behind him, and curiosity thrummed in him.

Jaskier grumbled in defeat.

“So, what is this Galleon called?” he asked.

A sly smile twisted Yennefer’s mouth, and she tucked a lock of her raven black hair behind her ear.

“The Green Dragon.”


	23. The Rendezvous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always folk comments and feedback water my crops :)

The convoy was to sail past the same stretch of islands that Crooked Island belonged to and then along the north coast of Cuba until they reached Havana.

Yennefer had pointed out a large cluster of jagged rocks just south of the islands on a map in Jaskier’s cabin, saying that this was the rendezvous for The Lodge’s ships. It would give them a good vantage point towards the east and if the weather stayed clear, they’d be able to see the convoy coming from miles away.

She had stressed the importance of retrieving the Captain’s log from the Galleon. Jaskier had been more interested in the slaves. Apparently, there were ten in total, all bought from a market in London and being shipped across to work Governor Foltest’s estate. They were being held on the second deck. 

Geralt could already see Jaskier forming a plan.

“Don’t forget about the man-of-war and the three brigs,” Yennefer reminded him. 

“You said that there will be five ships from The Lodge there in total?” the Captain looked up at her from the map splayed open on his desk.

“Including The Lark, yes. There would have been more, but my girls are stretched a bit thin at the moment and getting in touch with Pirate Captains is not easy.”

“Captain-“ Renfri tried.

“It’s doable. We just have to be smart about it. Let’s see what Borch has to say about it first, shall we?” Jaskier waved his hand across the map absently, “Yen, tell me more about The Green Dragon, its manpower, firing range.”

They talked and discussed tactics, Geralt giving them his opinions and Renfri, ever level-headed, challenging them with what ifs. 

Eventually Yennefer took her leave and Jaskier ordered the casting off of The Lark. 

There was an energy about the crew as they set to work as news of their mission spread. The newest members of the crew were learning quickly and seemed to be enjoying the chatter that came with the excitement of taking on a convoy.

Jaskier was more composed as he stood behind the helm. There was determination in his expression and Geralt was almost proud to see that even though the last job from the Lodge had gone horribly wrong, it hadn’t put Jaskier off trying again.

Renfri was helping him secure the ropes at the bottom of the main mast as the sails were untied above them. She caught him looking at Jaskier and smirked.

“It’s good that he’s found someone,” she hummed, giving Geralt a pointed look.

“What?” Geralt turned to her, slightly flustered.

“He loves practically everyone he meets but with you it’s different, and you’ve no idea how good it is to see him genuinely happy for once.”

Geralt glanced back at Jaskier, that ever-present tight feeling in his gut.

“I don’t deserve him,” Geralt grumbled darkly.

Renfri quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t,” she shrugged, “But I can see how much you care about each other. I think most of the crew worked it out before either of you two did.”

Geralt tried to swallow the embarrassment threatening to flush in his cheeks. 

“Just know though, that if you ever hurt him, I will castrate you,” she added pleasantly.

“Hm.”

Geralt didn’t doubt for a second that she would, and he found himself thinking it’s more a matter of when, not if. He shook the thought and secured the last rope. 

Renfri double checked it then bounced away to make sure preparations were done.

Geralt was very tempted to go and hide himself away below deck and not deal with the emotions constricting him but as he looked back to Jaskier again, he knew where he wanted be, so he joined Jaskier on the quarter deck.

“The wind is good today,” the Captain peered up at the black flag fluttering about at the top of the main mast, “If it holds, we should make some good progress before they day is out.”

The knot in Geralt’s gut eased slightly when Jaskier beamed at him.

“Who is Borch?” he asked, wanting to distract himself from the new spiral of guilt Renfri had stirred in him.

“Ah, well,” Jaskier hummed, “Captain Borch is a slightly more unconventional pirate, as in he seeks the thrill of adventure rather than the prize at the end. He is actually the one who taught me to sail way back when I first started out with The Lark and didn’t have a clue what I was doing.” 

“So, he’s a…a friend?” 

“That’s one word for him I suppose,” Jaskier said nonchalantly. 

“And the other Captains?” 

“Borch is the only one I know,” the young man shrugged in apology.

“Did Yennefer tell you anything about them?” Geralt folded his arms across his chest.

“Like fuck she did,” Jaskier pulled a face, “Never one to reveal more than she deems necessary is Yennefer. And anyway, she’s probably just being cautious, you know, seeing as how The Lodge isn’t as secure as she thought it was.”

A pang rippled through Geralt and he swallowed thickly.

“Whatever lies ahead of us Geralt, at least it won’t be boring,” Jaskier grinned at him.

As they got further out to sea, the wind filled the sails and The Lark took off through the choppy waves.

It took them four days to reach the rendezvous point.

Each night Geralt had curled up with Jaskier in his cabin, and each night he had almost come clean, but stopped himself every time. The longer he waited the worse it would get but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Tell Jaskier and risk losing him. Don’t tell Jaskier and when he inevitably found out, probably lose him anyway. 

It didn’t help that when they spent time together during the day, those were some of the best moments of his life. And all they were really doing was talking. 

Jaskier composed in the evenings. Geralt took great joy in just listening. 

He joined in with the crew when Jaskier performed for them. He even started making requests much to Jaskier’s delight. 

Each day ended the same, with Jaskier in his arms, falling asleep tucked against him, happy and content and safe and trusting. 

And it twisted like a dagger in Geralt’s heart.

But he still didn’t tell him.

Mid-afternoon on the fourth day, and they were approaching the collection of large rocks Yennefer had described, jutting out of the ocean, rising high above the waves, sheltering the four ships anchored in their shadows.

Four black flags fluttering in the wind.

After haling the closest ship, Jaskier drew The Lark alongside and ordered the drop of the anchor and the gathering of the sails. 

Three Jackdaws, the embossed name placard on the other brig declared. 

Geralt could see a couple of her crew flitting about on the main deck but the man standing on the quarter deck flanked by two tall, lithe, dark-skinned women caught his attention.

“Captain Jaskier!” the man called across, “It’s good of you to join us.”

“Captain Borch,” Jaskier flipped him off and the man laughed.

“Charming as always. Come. Come over. It’s been a while,” Borch beamed, arms open in invitation.

Jaskier rolled his eyes, a playful grin on his face.

“Renfri, hold down the fort,” he winked at his quarter master as he jumped down to the main deck, “Geralt come with me, there is someone I’d like you to meet.”

Geralt was infected by Jaskier’s enthusiasm and he helped Havi prop a gangplank between the two ships.

The Three Jackdaws was a very fine brig. Fancy carvings and embellishments patterned the woodwork. Its canvas sails of the highest quality. Even its crew in clothing more splendid that one would expect for pirates. It was clear that Borch had the money to invest in his ship.

The man himself was older, neatly trimmed, an air of sophistication about him. He clapped Jaskier heartily on the back then offered his hand to Geralt.

“Borch, Captain of the Three Jackdaws. This is Téa and Véa,” Borch indicated the women who had followed him onto the main deck.

“Geralt,” Geralt shook his hand, enjoying the way Jaskier was looking at him.

“We have much to discuss,” Borch clapped his hands together, “Now that we are all here, we can come up with a solid plan.”

He signalled one of his crew and instructed the man to get word to the other ships and invite their Captain’s over.

“Who’s ‘we’?” Jaskier hummed, glancing out across the water towards the other three brigs.

“Yes, indeed. Taking on a convoy is no little task. Only the best were summoned for this hunt,” Borch indicated each ship as he spoke of them, “That brig over there with the black hull is The Reaver. Its Captain, Boholt, is not a man you want to cross. Ruthless and merciless but a damn good sailor. The one next to it is the Kingdom’s Gloria. Captain Eyck has the respect of his crew but he’s a bit of a show-off and thinks he’s God’s gift to humanity. And that brig anchored by the rocks is The Bearded Beauty. Yarpen Zigrin is her Captain. A man with a short temper but fiercely loyal to his crew. Him and his men are a unique bunch.”

“How so?” Geralt gruffed.

“I believe ‘Dwarf’ is the commonly acceptable term for it,” Borch smiled at him.

“Do you think they can all get on?” Jaskier frowned, a slight of concern in his expression.

“Yennefer seems to think so,” the older man said breezily, “But I’m not worried about the politics, I’m in it for the adventure. One last hoorah before I retire. I’m getting too old for this nonsense. I’ve lived a good full life, seized opportunities that have come my way, no regrets. One last adventure to appease the ache inside before I’m unable to fill it anymore.”

Geralt quirked him a questioning look and Jaskier rolled his eyes as if he knew what the answer would be.

“Everyone has that dark void in them my boy. That ache that can only be satisfied by one thing. I’m lucky enough to have found my need. Risk and adventure and exploration. Jaskier here fills his with music. Not everyone is so lucky,” Borch gave Geralt such a knowing look that he felt a quiver run through him.

“Yes, yes, and then we all hold hands and have a good cry together. You’ve been spouting that same drivel for years Borch,” Jaskier placed his hands on his hips.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Borch smiled softly, “Your friend here seems to know exactly what I mean.”

“Captain?” one of the Three Jackdaws crew interrupted, “That’s the others here.”

Borch dipped his head in thanks as the three other Captain’s joined them on the deck.

Geralt studied them all with interest. Judging by Borch’s descriptions, he assumed the tall man with a wave of golden hair and wearing an embroidered tunic was Eyck. The tight faced, sharp cheeked man with dark hair and narrowed eyes was Boholt. And the third of the party, standing a good few heads shorter than the other two, bald and a long beard, was Yarpen Zigrin.

“Gentlemen,” Borch greeted them, “This is Captain Jaskier and Geralt.”

“Great, I don’t really care. Shall we get on with it?” Yarpen snapped.

Borch invited them to join him in his quarters. Téa and Véa followed him in and the others filtered in after.

Jaskier was peering at the other ships, lost in thought when Yarpen barged into him.

“You admiring my brig? What? Is mine bigger than yours?” he said slyly, “Named after me of course.”

“The Bearded Beauty?” Geralt came to Jaskier’s recuse as the young man tried to recover.

“That’s right,” Yarpen grinned.

He watched the man disappear into the Captain’s cabin but before Jaskier could follow, Geralt caught him by the arm.

“You oaky?” he grumbled.

“Yeah, I was just… trying to work out how we are going to do this,” Jaskier blinked at him softly. 

“I’m with you,” Geralt hummed.

“I know,” Jaskier pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth then went into the cabin.

Geralt had to take a moment to control his thundering heart, then finally followed.

Borch’s cabin was much more elaborately decorated than Jaskier’s and pristinely neat and tidy. Where Jaskier was chaos, Borch was order, and the way he conducted the gathering around the table was no exception.

It was very clear he was in charge here, much to Boholt’s dissatisfaction Geralt noticed. He had set out little representations of all the ships, the convoy and the pirates, and he managed to keep things civil as they discussed their plan of action.

Many ideas were thrown back and forth, debated and discussed.

Eyck thought that as soon as the convoy were within range, they should just charge it and take it by surprise. This was quickly dismissed because of the detrimental loss of life on their end.

Boholt wanted to tail it to Havana and then attack as the Galleon was unloaded, but Borch didn’t like the idea of leaving themselves exposed to the rest of the soldiers that would greet the convoy at the docks. 

Yarpen was adamant that some should lure away The Green Dragon’s protection while others go for the ship itself, but it was pointed out that it was carrying a good share of the banks’ profits which were supposed to be distributed among the trading capitols of the Caribbean. The King’s Navy would never abandon such a precious prize.

Borch suggested concentrating fire on one ship at a time. Then quickly retracted his idea as it would leave them all vulnerable to the other ships.

Geralt watched Jaskier throughout the entire exchange. He knew Jaskier well enough by now to know that the young man was humouring them all by hearing out their half-thought out ideas, and he couldn’t wait to see what plan he had been working on.

Blue eyes met amber and Jaskier flashed him a cocky wink.

“Jaskier? What do you think?” Borch asked him with a sigh.

There was an air of condescending coming from the other Captains as Jaskier stepped forward to speak. 

“I’m glad you asked,” he said, being careful to keep his tone neutral, “Our best chance to get to The Green Dragon is to slip between the man-of-war and the brigs. Put us between them and the Galleon. The convoy wont fire on us at risk of hitting the Galleon, and the Galleon wont risk hitting their own either. That leaves them with the only option of trying to get close enough to board us. There should be enough of us to cause hesitation among them as they try to work out who takes who first. At such close proximity, as long as we are out of range from each other, we can fire at both the convoy and the Galleon as much as we like.”

He moved the representations as he spoke and Geralt could see guilt flash around the room. They had all, apart from Borch, underestimated Jaskier because of his age, and again, Jaskier had proved his quick intelligence. A surge of pride swelled through Geralt.

“You know, that actually makes sense,” Yarpen sounded impressed.

“I agree,” Borch glanced at the others.

Boholt looked livid but he conceded. Eyck nodded too, but Geralt could see it was with reluctance.

“Then it is settled,” Borch hummed, “This is our plan. And once we’ve taken the Galleon, the logs and ledgers Yennefer asked for will be with the Captain’s quarters. The convoy should be passing in the next day or two. Can I suggest we prepare for the attack?”

There was a ripple of agreement and Borch dismissed everyone with a wave of his hand.

The older man beckoned Jaskier and Geralt hung in the doorway to wait for him.

“Where the hell did you pull that from?” Borch chuckled.

Jaskier shrugged, a wide smile lighting up his face. 

“I’m just that good,” he winked.

Borch let him go with another hearty chuckle and Jaskier joined Geralt on the deck.

“Where did you come up with that?” Geralt husked under his breath as they made their way back to The Lark.

“I read a poem that gave me the idea,” Jaskier admitted sheepishly, “And I adapted it from there.”

Geralt laughed, loud and booming.

“Of course you did!” he shook his head, eyes alight with mirth, “The looks on their faces!”

Renfri was waiting for them as they climbed back onboard their ship.

“So?” she asked, hands on hips.

“The Green Dragon is as good as ours,” Geralt beamed at her.


	24. The Convoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and feedback are received with much love ;)

During the day and a half they lay in wait for the convoy, the bright clear skies darkened with dense clouds. 

Protected by the rocks from the worst of the rougher waves, the ships bobbed up and down with the swells of the sea. The breeze coming off the choppy water was thick and warm.

Communication between the Captains had them agreeing that as long as the storm held off, the plan would go ahead. Otherwise, they were to regroup off the coast of Havana and decide how they were going to proceed from there. If they beat the convoy, there was still a chance to take them on open water. If the convoy got to Havana first, a whole new plan would be needed.

Geralt really hoped they wouldn’t have to dock in Havana, but he couldn’t voice his concerns without revealing the real reason.

There was a chance that they could be in and out before Governor Foltest even knew they were there, but Geralt didn’t want to take that chance.

The crew of The Lark were tense with nervous energy that wound tighter and tighter as the hours crawled by.

Renfri was leaning over the prow with her spyglass. Jaskier was pacing on the quarter deck. Geralt was resting against the balustrade in front of the helm, looking out at the gathered pirates.

There was an eerie quiet across the anchored ships. The only noises came from the sloshing waves and the whistle of the wind through the rocks. 

Geralt could practically taste the anticipation. 

There was that worry of the longer they sat there, the less chance the Galleon would actually come their way. There could be a whole number of reasons. Delayed in London. Thrown of course by a storm. A last-minute change to the route. Becalmed with no wind to fill their sails. Sickness. Different Pirates. 

Eventually the decision would have to be made to leave, and Geralt knew that Borch would have the final say.

He felt Jaskier settle next to him and he cast a warm glance at the young man.

The Captain pressed against him and Geralt knew he was trying to draw reassurance and comfort from his presence. The threat of the storm had unnerved Jaskier slightly and Geralt could only tell because of the nervous fidget in his fingers.

“It’s going to work,” he hummed, “It’s a good plan.”

“Rescuing Havi was a good plan,” Jaskier mumbled darkly.

Geralt swallowed the surge of guilt and pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s temple.

The young man sighed, letting his head rest against Geralt’s, his fingers dancing across the top of the balustrade. 

Gut fluttering, Geralt placed his hand on top of Jaskier’s to still it and then twined their fingers together. 

Close and content and peaceful and together. 

It was a good feeling that warmed through him right now. He could push away the guilt and the fear and just enjoy this moment. Enjoy Jaskier. 

But then Renfri shifted sharply, drawing Jaskier’s, and in turn, Geralt’s attention to her.

She signalled to Havi in the crow’s nest. The man swung his telescope in the direction she was pointing and nodded. 

“Sails!” he boomed, “Sails on the horizon!”

Similar calls echoed from the other ships and the air was suddenly buzzing with excitement. Geralt’s heart thudded in his chest as tension coiled through him.

“Is it the convoy?” Jaskier shouted to Renfri.

“Aye Captain. British colours. Galleon. Man-of-War. Three brigs. It’s them,” she yelled back, peering through her spyglass.

Jaskier jumped behind the helm. 

“Raise anchor, full sail,” he hollered, “Let’s go ruin their day.”

Geralt caught Jaskier’s eye and nodded to him. The Pirate Captain flashed him a wink and Geralt turned to join the crew on the main deck, trying to hold onto that warm feeling as the approaching battle clouded over them. 

He threw himself up the rigging of the foremast and helped to loosen the ropes binding the fore sail to the boom, then scurried up a level to release the top sail.

There was a flurry of action from each of the ships. White canvas flashed in the shadows of the towering rocks, and then the pirates were on the move.

Jaskier led with The Lark. Three Jackdaws flanked her right side and the others fanned out behind them. 

The idea was to come at the convoy in a straight-ish line to give them a better chance of getting in between the escort and the Galleon.

The wind picked up the further from the rocks they travelled and The Lark lurched forwards with the push. They flew through the waves at a startling speed, the spray of the ocean misting in the air and soaking them through.

Borch had pulled up level with them and the others maneuvered so that there was enough space between each ship for a brig to fit lengthways. 

Eyck and Boholt were at either end of the line, their intention to sail round the back of the Galleon so that she was surrounded on all sides. With Borch on the right and Yarpen on the left, Jaskier kept The Lark pointed straight at their target.

“They’ve spotted us Captain,” Havi called, “They’ve changed course to meet us.”

“Right. Good. Keep an eye on them,” Jaskier called back.

From where Geralt perched near the top of the rigging, hands wound into the thick rope of the sail, he could see the British ships heading straight for them, growing ever bigger as they steadily closed the distance. 

The man-of-war was in the lead. A huge military ship with several gun decks and sails as big as plantation fields. She was flanked by the three brigs, creating a V formation and behind them was the Galleon. Slightly smaller than the man-of-war, The Green Dragon was still a formidable looking ship with a dark green painted hull and the crest of the King embroidered into her sails.

Geralt looked to the other crewmen of The Lark who were perched up the main mast, awaiting their orders. He glanced at the two below him and then down to the others getting ready by the cannons. He could see Renfri by Jaskier side.

Manning the sails wasn’t new to him, but he had never been responsible for the fore top sail before. It was a one-man job and he assured Jaskier that he could do it when the Captain had asked him. Clinging to his spot right now as the ship rocked beneath him, he might have been regretting his confidence. 

There was a boom like thunder and the water sploshed off the starboard bow. Another boom and the projectile just fell short of the hull.

“They’re firing chain-shots at us Captain!” Havi shouted, voice nearly drowned out by the wind, “If they hit our masts, they will sink us!”

“They won’t!” Geralt could barely hear Jaskier.

He gripped tightly to the rigging, holding his position, trusting Jaskier to know what he was doing.

There came another boom and the Captain swung the helm to the left. The Lark swerved sharply towards The Bearded Beauty and the projectile missed. The man-of-war was forced to change its course to fire at a new target and Jaskier brought The Lark back to its line in a sweeping arc. 

They were close now, almost coming up parallel to the man-of-war that had turned its attention to Borch.

“Hold your fire, they’re out of our range,” Jaskier ordered, spinning the helm again to point his ship at the stern of the man-of-war. 

They were now side on to the closest brig and Jaskier called to ‘brace’ as a line of cannon fire soared their way. One or two cannon balls smashed into the side of The Lark and Geralt could feel the shudder of the impact ripple up the foremast. He tightened his grip of the ropes.

“Return fire!” Jaskier bellowed and a wave of cannonballs battered the British brig.

The brig had to turn away to avoid clipping them leaving Jaskier free to slip behind the man-of-war. 

They were now between it and the Galleon.

“Bring in the top sails!” Jaskier called, “And fire!”

Geralt hauled his rope with all his might, battling with the wind to force the sheet of canvas to close as a torrent of cannon fire smashed into the back of the man-of-war. A second wave of fire was sent towards the Galleon.

Geralt grunted as the hemp bit into his hands but he finally pulled the sail back in and set to work tying it down. 

He could see the Three Jackdaws and The Reaver had successfully slipped through the escort and were firing mercilessly at the man-of war and the Galleon. The Bearded Beauty and the Kingdom’s Gloria were locked in a back and forth between two of the brigs. 

The brig The Lark had shot at before had come about and was trying to gain enough of the wind to ram them. If it succeeded it would trap The Lark between it and the Galleon, essentially pinning her there as the British tried to board her. 

Jaskier swung the nose of The Lark around to face the brig, ordering another round of cannon fire as he did so. The cannonballs tore into the enemy ship in a neat arc and the brig had to make a hasty turn to avoid crashing into the Galleon.

Geralt quickly turned his attention back to tying down the top sail.

There was an almighty bang above his head and the air vibrated with the sound. Geralt’s stomach plummeted. He went stiff with dread.

The storm was here. 

Not now, he thought with despair, not when we’re so close.

Rain quickly followed the thunder and he couldn’t feel his fingers as he fumbled with the ropes.

He blinked water out of his eyes, no longer able to see or hear much of what was happening on the deck below. 

The Lark surged unpleasantly as a huge wave barrelled into her and Geralt slipped. He scrabbled at the rigging and caught himself, panting hard as he pulled himself back up and desperately tried to finish his task so he could return to the solid deck.

They could still do this, if the others made it past the brigs, they could still pull this off, but the wind had picked up and a flash of lighting followed the next rumble of thunder that rattled the bones in his body.

The ocean was becoming a frenzy of frothing waves. A huge wall of water rushed The Lark and she was dashed into to the Galleon. 

Geralt could hear the groan of wood as the two hulls scraped off each other.

“Get the sails in! The wind will tare us apart!” he heard a shout above the storm.

Geralt finished the last knot and he huffed out a sigh of relief. He started his careful decent to help the other two with the larger sail when a gust of wind tore the ropes from the men’s hands and the force whipped the sail round. Geralt managed to avoid the flailing canvas but his foot became caught in the rigging. 

There was a shuddering crack as the fore top mast splintered under the strain of the renegade sail. The top of the rigging came loose, tumbling away from the mast, and Geralt fell with it.

He plummeted into the sea, wrapped in a tangle of rope. Salty water filled his ears and his nose. The pressure and the noise, the cold panic as he struggled to free himself, blindly reaching for the rope caught around his foot. 

Cut it. Have to cut it.

He couldn’t reach the sword on his back, too much rope. He jerked the knife from his belt, but it was knocked from his hand, too much rope. His lungs burned for air as he tugged and kicked and twisted, too much rope. 

His heart thudded painfully in his chest. His limbs felt heavy and not quite his own anymore. 

Couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t-

And then there was air and he was choking and gasping lungful’s. He felt his body jerk as the ropes were tugged and he then was flying and then he was hitting the deck with a hard thud. 

There were hands all around him, freeing him, checking him over, and then there were hands on his face and wide blue eyes.

“Geralt!” he heard his name, but the voice sounded oddly distant.

He reached for the voice, feeling his fingers close into damp material and he wretched, dribbling seawater down his chin.

“Geralt, Geralt look at me!” there was panic in that voice and Geralt blinked the water out of his eyes the best he could considering the tumbling rain as he forced himself to lift his head.

“Jaskier?” he rasped.

“You fucking scared me there for a moment,” there was an attempt at a laugh, but the voice was still high and tight.

“Jaskier,” he mumbled.

“Come on, on your feet,” the young man said forcefully, and he was being hauled up, an arm looped round his waist.

“Captain, The Green Dragon is getting away!”

“Fuck The Green Dragon. We’ll regroup. We have to get out of this storm!”

Geralt’s knees gave way and he slumped against Jaskier who stumbled under his weight.

“Come on Geralt,” the young man tried.

Geralt was weak with exhaustion and he couldn’t make his legs work. He tumbled to the deck, pulling Jaskier with him and the Captain cursed loudly.

The Lark swayed as she was buffeted by the wind and battered by the waves. 

Geralt’s vision swam, his stomach churned. Jaskier was pulling at him desperately but as much as he wanted to go with him, he couldn’t move.

“Geralt please,” Jaskier wailed, “I need to get you inside. I need to get you safe.”

A crack of thunder and the dark sky lit up with a flash of lighting. 

The crashing waves, the howl of the wind. 

Geralt reached for Jaskier, then fell back unconscious.


	25. The First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where the explicit rating comes in. As always comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!

The first thing Geralt noticed as he came to, was how dry his mouth was. It felt like he had been gargling salt, which, as the memories came back to him, is what he had pretty much been doing.

The second thing he noticed was that he was lying somewhere soft and warm. The light of the sun illuminated his surroundings and he realised that he was on Jaskier’s bed in his cabin.

The third thing he noticed was Jaskier himself. Stood by the window in his cotton shirt rolled up to the elbow, dark hair askew and looking out at the impeccably calm ocean. 

The young man looked tired, stressed. He had a dark expression on his face and his arms were folded tightly across his chest.

Gingerly, Geralt pushed himself up into a sitting position, testing his weary limbs and stretching his cramped muscles. 

His movements caught Jaskier’s attention.

“Geralt!” his arms fell to his sides and he seemed to wilt as his eyes lit up and a wide smile spread across his face, “Thank God.”

Geralt hummed deep in his chest as Jaskier crossed the room and threw his arms around him.

Returning the embrace, Geralt pushed his face into the crook of Jaskier’s neck, just breathing him in, letting his scent chase away the lingering tang of the sea. 

Jaskier leaned back, plonked himself on the bed next to Geralt, cupped his face with warm hands and pressed his lips to his forehead, his cheek, his lips. So tender and soft, Geralt had to hold back the tears forming in his eyes. 

“I’m okay Jaskier,” he rumbled, letting his own smile match Jaskier’s from earlier. 

He took Jaskier’s hands, rubbing soothing circles into his skin with the pads of his thumbs. Jaskier couldn’t quite meet his eye.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he murmured, sounding so lost and small, it hurt Geralt’s heart, “I watched you fall and go under and I thought…”

“I’ve already told you Jaskier. I’m with you. You aren’t getting rid of me that easy,” Geralt flashed him a brazen smile but it faltered on his lips when Jaskier finally met his gaze.

“I can’t lose you Geralt. Not you. I just…I can’t,” a tear rolled down Jaskier’s cheek and Geralt felt that knot in his gut tighten. 

He forced away the guilt, the pain of ‘that might still happen’ and he tucked his arms around Jaskier, gathering him to his chest and holding him close.

They were quiet together for a while. He was pretty sure Jaskier was listening to the steady thump of his heart, and he carded his fingers through the young man’s hair absently.

He realised that the sun was setting, casting the room in a hazy gold. The sky was blue and clear of clouds. Not a single sign that the storm had even happened.

“Jaskier?” he hummed softly, “How long was I out?”

Jaskier shifted in his arms and sat up, his hands coming to rest between them as Geralt’s slipped down to rest on his waist.

“About a day maybe?” he darted his tongue across his lips, “The storm blew itself out a few hours ago and we are way off course.”

“What’s the damage?” Geralt asked hesitantly. He wasn’t sure if he was asking about the ship, the crew, the other pirates, the convoy, but Jaskier took a breath and explained it all anyway.

“We lost Jimmy,” Jaskier looked at his hands, swallowing thickly, “No one had noticed he was missing until the storm stopped.”

Geralt made a noise of sorrow and Jaskier exhaled slowly, hurt and grief plain across his face.

The Captain cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. 

“The fore top mast is destroyed, and the fore sail was ripped to shreds. Havi has done a quick repair but we are going to need to get new canvases when we next dock. The Lark took a beating in the storm but she’s sturdy and fairly undamaged all things considered,” the Captain glanced around him as he spoke, the ghost of quiet pride glinting in his eyes.

Geralt nodded, encouraging him to go on.

“The Green Dragon slipped through with the man-of-war and a brig. The other two brigs went down,” he bit his bottom lip, “As did The Reaver and Kingdom’s Gloria. The Bearded Beauty is ahead of us a few clicks. We’ll meet up with her in Havana. I uh, I didn’t see what happened to Borch but there’s been no sign of them.”

Jaskier’s voice broke slightly on the last few words.

“Jask, I’m so sorry,” Geralt murmured.

The young man ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m tired Geralt. I’m just… so tired,” his blue eyes swam with unshed tears, “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“Hey,” Geralt rumbled softly, his chest tightening at Jaskier’s anguish, “You are not alone through this. Lean on me, talk to me. I’ve got you Jaskier.”

Jaskier tilted his head slightly, as if trying to process Geralt’s words.

“You’ve got me. I keep thinking about what that means. About what I want,” Jaskier shuffled slightly, searching Geralt’s gaze, “I almost lost you, and I realised that I wanted…more. For us. The Future.”

Geralt felt hot. Tingly under those bright blue eyes. The adoration he saw reflected back in Jaskier’s expression had his gut fluttering and his heart doing flips.

“Once this is over, all this nonsense in Havana for The Lodge, maybe we could go somewhere just you and me. Go to the coast. Any coast. Get away for a while,” Jaskier’s voice was low and rich with sincerity. 

He wanted it, God did Geralt want it.

“Sounds like something Borch would say, doesn’t it?” Jaskier quirked a small smile, “Life’s too short. Do what pleases you. While you can.”

“Composing your next song?” Geralt heard himself say as his mind raced and his heart thundered.

“No, I…I’m just trying to work out what pleases me.”

There was a heat spreading through Geralt’s core as he looked at Jaskier. Beautiful and vibrant and soft and vulnerable. Sitting so close to him that he could that he could feel his warmth.

All of his worries and guilt currently forgotten. The only think he could think about, he could focus on, was the young man in front of him confessing his soul, and about how much he wanted to protect him. Never let anything hurt him ever again. 

Jaskier’s words flitted about his brain like tiny trapped birds going around and round as his heart thrummed strongly in his chest and the giddy feeling in his stomach made him lightheaded.

He wanted Jaskier. Needed him. All of him.

He needed to touch him. Feel him. Breath him. Until it was too much but never enough.

He had never felt like this before. So consumed by emotion for another person and it was exciting and scary and overwhelming. 

He couldn’t take the distance between them any longer and he crashed his mouth into Jaskier’s, kissing him with such fervour that Jaskier whined against his lips. His hands came up to curl into Jaskier’s hair, holding him in place as he devoured him, tasted him, tried to put every unspoken emotion into lips sliding on lips and tongues twining together and swallowing the soft noises that escaped the young man. 

Jaskier’s hands were on his arms, his chest, his waist, his back. Trying to find a grounding hold as Geralt kissed him senseless.

They parted a moment, panting. Jaskier’s eyes were blown wide and he flushed a dark red. Geralt thought he probably looked the same. 

When they came together again it was slower, deeper. Geralt had a hand on the back of Jaskier’s neck, the other trailed down his spine and rested on the small of his back. He felt Jaskier shiver under his touch.

Jaskier moaned, long and low as Geralt pulled him closer, chests bumping together, legs getting in the way.

Geralt could feel Jaskier tugging the hem of his shirt from where it was tucked into his pants and then there were burning hot hands fluttering over his bare skin. Up his sides, round his back, down his chest. He felt those supple fingers pause over each scar that littered his torso, tracing the marred flesh with feather light touches.

Geralt felt every nerve in his body tingling. 

He trailed his lips along Jaskier’s jaw, soft and wet, kissing and nibbling as he went. Every time he introduced his teeth Jaskier jolted and a gasp fell from him. Geralt nuzzled into the base of his ear then continued his mapping of Jaskier’s skin down his neck. There was a spot just below his Adams apple, that when Geralt pulsed his tongue against it, the young man’s breath hitched, and his body became floppy and pliant in Geralt’s arms as if he had just hit the off switch for Jaskier’s muscle control. Geralt nibbled into that sensitive spot and the keening noise Jaskier made was devastating. 

“G-Geralt,” the young man rasped between ragged breaths, “I want…I need…”

Geralt captured his mouth again.

He untucked Jaskier’s shirt and glided it up and over his head, quickly discarding it so he could plant his lips onto Jaskier’s bare shoulder.

Geralt knew Jaskier was strong but through the dark hair on his chest he could see the muscle, and in his stomach and his arms, God those fucking arms, as he pushed Jaskier back onto the bed.

He tore off his own shirt, Jaskier’s dark eyes drinking in every inch of him, and he could see the bugle tenting the front of Jaskier’s breeches. He became very aware of his own erection and the thought of what was about to happen sparked a fire in his gut.

Jaskier reached for him, weak and wanting, and Geralt allowed himself to be pulled down into a bruising kiss. They were flush together, chest to chest, Geralt’s crotch digging into Jaskier’s hip.

Hand’s wove their way into Geralt’s ashen hair, and he chuckled into Jaskier’s mouth.

Very slowly, he ghosted his hand down Jaskier’s chest, over his fluttering stomach and dipped his fingers under the hem of Jaskier’s breeches.

Jaskier tilted his head back, quivering under the touch.

“Can I?” Geralt rumbled, voice deep and laced with lust.

Jaskier nodded and Geralt slid his fingers further under the material. Jaskier bucked into his hand as he closed it gently around Jaskier’s cock.

“Geralt,” he whined.

Geralt stroked him slowly, enjoying the way Jaskier reacted to every shift of skin against skin. He removed his hand from Jaskier’s breeches, chuckling when Jaskier scowled in protest, and make quick work of unlacing the front of his breeches, releasing Jaskier from the confines of the material as he pulled them down, along with his boots and threw them off the bed.

Jaskier was fucking ethereal. Beads of sweat were already forming on his skin and his dark hair was sticking up at odd angles. He already looked completely ravished and Geralt had only just started. 

“Geralt touch me. Please,” Jaskier’s voice was reedy with desire.

Geralt leaned back down over him, kissing him softly, one hand supporting himself on the bed, the other resuming its teasing strokes. He could practically smell Jaskier’s arousal. Thick and musty, seeping from every pore of his skin.

As he flicked his tongue across Jaskier’s pliable lips, he felt hands tugging at the laces of his own pants as Jaskier tried to undo them.

“Fuck. Geralt. Can’t,” Jaskier mumbled into his mouth between chaste kisses.

Geralt rolled off him and shimmied off his pants. Jaskier forgot to breath as he stared at him.

“Um…” Geralt paused, suddenly feeling self-conscious and unsure, “Is this okay? What we’re doing?” 

Jaskier rolled his eyes at him.

“Yes. Yes, it’s more than okay,” he grinned, sensing Geralt needed the reassurance, “Now hurry up.”

As Geralt leaned back in, Jaskier sprung up, narrowly avoiding clashing their heads together.

“Wait, wait, wait!” he bubbled, reaching down the side of the bed and rummaging around.

Geralt watched him curiously then flushed as Jaskier presented him with a small vial of oil. 

“Chamomile,” Jaskier beamed at him, pressing the vial into his hand.

“Why uh, is that down the side of your bed?” Geralt swallowed, trying to force his brain to catch up.

“I use it to butter toast. Why do you think?” Jaskier huffed dramatically. 

He definitely did not think about all the possible things Jaskier might do with such an item as he popped the cap and dipped a tentative finger into the thickly scented oil.  
He resealed it again, placing it beside him on the bed and settled himself between Jaskier’s legs. It had been a long time since he had last done this, and even longer since doing it with another man, and the anticipation flurried in his gut.

He leaned down over Jaskier, brushing their lips together as he slowly glided his finger down, down, until he was pressing into him.

Jaskier whimpered into Geralt’s mouth as he touched him in the most intimate way. Geralt kept the rhythm slow and steady, giving the young man time to adjust to the pressure and the stretch. 

Jaskier garbled sweet nothing’s into his ear as Geralt ground his crotch into Jaskier’s, desperate for friction.

Jaskier’s hands were fisted in the sheets and he grunted when a Geralt added a second finger.

He was becoming braver with his pace. He pressed his nose into the crook of Jaskier’s neck as he felt the young man tremble with each push of his fingers. Jaskier’s breathing was sharp and shallow, and his heart was pattering rabbit-quick under his skin.

Geralt flexed his fingers in a come-hither motion and Jaskier cried out.

“Fuck! Geralt! There!”

Geralt prodded the sweet spot again and Jaskier became undone underneath him, melting into his touches and begging Geralt for more.

Three fingers and Jaskier yelped when Geralt sucked a bruising mark into the soft skin along his collar bone. He could tell Jaskier was close by the way his muscles clenched around him and the way he clawed desperately at Geralt’s shoulders. 

The idea of pushing Jaskier over the edge like this had every cell in his body burning but as he rutted against Jaskier, he knew that he wanted to eek out Jaskier’s pleasure for as long as he could.

Jaskier whimpered when Geralt removed his fingers but his pupils blew wide with lust as he watched Geralt slick himself up with the chamomile oil and then position himself above him, pressing the head of his cock against Jaskier’s ass.

“Still okay?” Geralt hummed, thrilling with anticipation.

“Yes, yes Geralt, please,” Jaskier panted.

Geralt pushed inside him and Jaskier bit his lip at the stretch, head lolling to one side, eyes screwed up at the not-too-unpleasant burn. It was all Geralt could do to not thrust his entire length in him at once.

“Look at me Jask,” Geralt grumbled, “I want…I need to see you.”

Jaskier opened his eyes and looked at him.

Geralt’s breath caught in his chest. The passion and need brimming in the blue, the flush of his cheeks, the tousled hair, the sheen of sweat on his brow. A new realisation crashed through him that brought tears to his eyes. He was in love.

Fuck.

He bit back the sob in his chest and rolled his hips so that he was fully sheathed inside Jaskier. He stilled again, drinking in the young man underneath him.

He loved him. He loved Jaskier. 

“Come on, Geralt, move!” Jaskier bucked his hips with impatience and Geralt shook back to the moment.

He pulled out so just the head of his cock was still inside him and then snapped his hips forwards, buying himself deep.

Jaskier choked back a yelp, clinging to Geralt for support and wrapping his legs around Geralt’s waist.

Each thrust was slow and purposeful, aimed perfectly to hit that sweet spot inside Jaskier that had the young man trembling and groaning.

Geralt planted his head in the crook of Jaskier’s neck and used his entire body to roll out each thrust. He felt a tight warmth pooling in his groin as his pleasure climbed. His skin prickled with the intensity of each wave. He was very aware of the way their bodies moved together, and how fucking good it felt to be inside Jaskier, making love to him.

Jaskier’s breath sobbed in his chest and his eyes fluttered shut as the sound of Geralt’s breathing grew more ragged.

“Geralt, please,” he rasped.

Geralt snaked a hand down to curl around Jaskier’s neglected cock, jerking in time with his languid thrusts.

The overstimulation quickly became too much and Jaskier cried out, his entire body going rigid and arching off the bed.

Geralt rode him through his orgasm, quickening his pace slightly to chase his own pleasure until his hips jittered, grunting as he came inside Jaskier.

He collapsed on top of Jaskier and Jaskier slung his arms around him, just holding him as they came down from their highs together, sharing lazy kisses and sated smiles. Geralt could still feel the tremors rippling through Jaskier’s body.

Eventually Geralt rolled off of him and settled onto the bed beside him.

“You okay?” he asked, glancing at Jaskier.

The young man nodded, eyes glassy, breathing starting to even out.

“Fuck,” Jaskier hummed.

Geralt tucked his arms around Jaskier, pulling him flush against his hot body and rested his chin atop Jaskier’s head.

Jaskier nuzzled into him, legs tangling, listening to the steady thump-thump of Geralt’s heart, smile turning sleepy as he blinked hooded eyes. 

Geralt held him gently as the young man fell asleep. His mind was still too wired to even think about giving into the dark right now. 

He just listened to Jaskier’s soft breathing, feeling his weight in his arms, letting that new electric feeling blossom in his heart.

It was like a great pressure had been lifted and applied both at the same time. 

And he tried not to think about how it stoked the guilt he was still trying to force away. How much worse it would be if…when Jaskier found out the truth. 

But he was in love. He finally had everything he never thought he would have. And he desperately wanted to enjoy the moment, before it was all taken away.


	26. The New Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated :)

“Geralt?” a soft voice broke through his lucid darkness, “Geralt, we have to get going. We’re approaching Havana.”

Geralt grumbled, blinking awake, eyes bleary in the light of the new day. There was a gentle hand on his chest, and warm lips pressed to his temple.

He shuffled, the echoes of last night’s pleasure still rippling through his body, and looked up into those bright blue eyes.

Jaskier smiled at him, beautiful and radiant. His dark hair was a mess and there was a purple bruise blossoming on his collar bone. Geralt’s heart was doing flips in his chest as he gazed at the man he loved.

He could feel it thrumming in his blood, fluttering in his gut, warming every cell, tingling through every nerve. He loved Jaskier. 

He pushed himself up to a sitting position and ran a hand through his silver hair.

“Jaskier,” he hummed, not actually quite sure what he wanted to say. 

Not those three words. Not yet. He couldn’t. He didn’t deserve to say them. Not with this secret he was still keeping from him. Jaskier deserved the truth. He deserved the fucking world, but Geralt couldn’t give it to him because he was scared. Still hiding behind what ifs and selfish justifications. Even after the night they had just shared together. 

Jaskier leaned in close, bumping their noses together before capturing Geralt’s mouth in a velvety kiss. He cupped Geralt’s cheek, drawing him in, and Geralt leaned into the warm touch. The embers from last night glowing hot under his skin and chasing away the dark thoughts and the twist in his gut. 

“I wish,” Jaskier hummed against his lips, “That we didn’t have to go to Havana today, because if that’s how you make love, I can’t wait to see how you fuck.”

Geralt choked on his breath, flushing bright pink as Jaskier chuckled. 

“But seriously Geralt,” Jaskier fixed him with a steady blue gaze, “Last night was the best night of my life.”

Geralt bit back the retort he was going to use to cover up the giddy feeling soaring through him, but Jaskier caught his expression and smirked.

“Cheesy, I know. Not one of my best lines,” he let his head fall against Geralt’s shoulder, “But it’s true.”

“You better not put this into your ballad,” Geralt grumbled, threading his fingers through Jaskier’s hair.

Jaskier laughed. His breath was hot against Geralt’s skin and warmth pooled low in his stomach.

“Oh, don’t worry. Contrary to popular belief, I keep my own sex life out of my songs.”

“Good,” Geralt tucked his fingers under Jaskier’s chin and titled his head up so he could kiss him.

Jaskier sighed into the kiss, letting Geralt deepen it by breeching his lips with his tongue.

If he could, Geralt would do nothing else but lay in bed and kiss Jaskier for the rest of his days.

“Good,” Geralt said again, breaking apart and resting his forehead against Jaskier’s, wanting, needing to express his love without saying those exact words, “Because no simile or metaphor or whatever could even come close to describing what I felt with you last night, with how special what we shared was and what it meant to me.”

“Now who’s being cheesy?” Jaskier’s voice broke slightly and Geralt could see the shimmer of unshed tears in his eyes.

Geralt pressed a hard kiss to his temple, then his cheek, then his mouth.

“Captain?” a harsh knocking rattled the door to the cabin, “Are you coming? Yarpen wants to talk.”

“Fuuuuuuck,” Jaskier whined, burying his face in Geralt’s neck.

“Captain?” the irritated shout came again.

“Okay, I’m coming Renfri,” Jaskier yelled back.

He flopped back onto the bed in defeat and cast an apologetic glance at Geralt.

“Come on,” he sighed, “Or she’ll be in here next.”

“Hm.”

They got themselves cleaned up and dressed. Jaskier fussed with the neatness of Geralt’s collar, his brow furrowed and his tongue poking out between his lips, until he decided it was perfect. 

There was a moment as Geralt watched Jaskier shrug on his long blue coat where he caught himself thinking about how domestic they were together and Geralt had never felt more at war with himself.

Jaskier beamed at him and offered Geralt his hand.

Geralt took it, their fingers lacing together, and he let the warm touch comfort him.

Renfri was waiting outside the cabin, hands on her hips, and scowl on her face.

“About bloody time-oh!” she noticed their hands, the look on Jaskier’s face, “Oh, well maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t just barge in there, huh?”

Jaskier grinned at her stupidly and she just rolled her eyes.

“Captain Yarpen Zigrin is waiting for you on the quarter deck,” she folded her arms across her chest.

Geralt could hear the man before he saw him. Ranting about the expenses of canvas and gesturing wildly at The Lark’s damaged fore mast.

Havi was with him and a few of his crew, agreeing with the smaller man and accepting the praise for his quick re-patching of the sail.

“Ah finally!” Yarpen grinned when he spotted Jaskier, “I was afraid I might just have to save this shitehole of situation without you.”

“Apologies,” Jaskier shook his hand firmly, “I was otherwise engaged with a very intimate matter.”

Geralt flushed. Renfri snorted.

“It is good to see you alive Captain,” Jaskier leaned back against the balustrade, giving a nod to Arran behind the helm.

“It takes more than a storm to take me down,” Yarpen chortled, “my brig is made of strong stuff.”

Geralt glanced at The Bearded Beauty which was sailing hull to hull with The Lark, the gentle wind pushing them along slowly. There were a few scars along the woodwork from stray cannon fire but apart from that, the ship was perfectly intact.

Through the gap between her sails, Geralt could see the dark mass of the Cuban coast, and just in the distance, nestled between hills and trees, sat Havana.

A strange feeling crept over Geralt.

It felt like it was only yesterday that he had arrived in the port, on his way to accept a contract to hunt down and kill Captain Julian Pankratz. A Pirate Hunter on the trail of his prey. But then everything had changed and so much had happened over the last few weeks that he felt dizzy just thinking about it. Life has been straightforward back then and he had come to Havana a Hunter in his prime, sure and steady with the task before him. 

Looking at the port now as they steadily drew closer, the tightness in his chest was making it hard to breathe. 

“The bastards are ahead of us,” the conversation drew back his attention and he arranged his expression into one of interest as Yarpen spoke, “Caught a glimpse of them last night but they will be pulling into the docks right about now.”

“A ship of that size,” pondered Jaskier, “By the time we get there they will be getting ready to unload her.”

“Right. The ship’s log and ledgers will still be in the Captain’s cabin so we can just sneak on board and snatch them,” Yarpen hummed.

Jaskier bit his lower lip.

“The Green Dragon is also carrying slaves,” he said, “And liberating slaves is kind of what we do.”

“A noble cause for sure,” Yarpen folded his arms across his chest, “That’s why you wanted to take her out at sea. Getting to the slaves on land will be a bastard of a problem.”

Jaskier hummed in agreement.

“If we can get to Havana before they are unloaded, we can follow to see where they are being kept. If we don’t, it’s going to be much harder,” Havi rumbled.

“If we don’t, I would just leave it. This is Havana we’re talking about. Not some poorly guarded cocksucking Lord’s estate or a village where they don’t give a shite. The Red Coats will be everywhere,” Yarpen Zigrin scoffed.

“We will get to those people, one way or another,” Jaskier frowned, a dangerous edge to his tone.

Yarpen sighed.

“And you’ll have me and my boys for support. Not one to shy away from a crazy mission and impossible odds, are we lads?” 

The few from The Bearded Beauty cheered in agreement.

“So, we get the stuff for The Lodge and free a bunch of slaves, and then I reckon a good long rest in a tavern,” Yarpen said with firm determination.

“How do we get into the harbour without being recognised?” Renfri asked.

“We lower the black,” Jaskier indicated the flag flapping about at the top of the main mast, “And there are a few spots along the dock where we can anchor so that the name plaques can’t be seen. As long as we tip the Harbour Master, they won’t look into it further.”

“There’s a trading post along the harbour if I remember correctly,” Renfri tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, “you can see the whole bay from there and we’ll be able to watch The Green Dragon without drawing too much attention to ourselves.”

“As long as we keep the shore party small,” Geralt gruffed.

“Yes, yes,” Yarpen waved him off then clapped his hands together, “Right lads. Let’s go rob a ship.”

Yarpen Zigrin and the crew he had with him hurried back over to The Bearded Beauty and the brigs drifted apart slightly. 

Jaskier took the helm from Arran, ordering the man to take down their black flag and store it below. Renfri recalled that they may still have a British colour in their stores and Jaskier beamed at her.

“Good idea,” the Captain clapped his Quarter Master on the back and asked Arran to go with her.

The sailor hurried away with Renfri to swap the flags over.

“I’m feeling good about this Geralt,” Jaskier glanced at him as he came to stand by his side, “It’s about time we had a win.”

“Hm.”

Geralt wasn’t so sure he shared the young man’s optimism. 

As morning became early afternoon, The Lark and The Bearded Beauty pulled into the harbour of Havana. 

The port was bustling with trading and merchant ships, military gun boats and schooners, small sailing boats and sloops. And right in the middle, along the largest jetty, sat The Green Dragon. 

The man-of-war and the surviving brig were anchored just a little way off. All three ships showed signs of the battle with the pirates as well as the storm. Splintered hulls, torn sails, fractured masts. They had been lucky to make it to Havana.

Jaskier anchored The Lark, his eyes never leaving their target and once she was still and her sails folded away, he plucked his spyglass from his pocket and peered at the Galleon.

“Lots of soldiers milling about. They haven’t started unloading yet,” he snapped his spyglass shut with a satisfying click and pocketed it again, “We might just pull this off.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt caught him by the arm before he could bundle off the ship.

Jaskier looked at him questioningly. 

Geralt bit his lip.

“Let’s just…be careful,” he grunted, trying to ignore the fact that his stomach was in knots.

“I’m always careful,” Jaskier winked at him.

Geralt jerked him closer and planted a wet kiss to Jaskier’s pliable lips. Jaskier’s hands immediately came up to clasp either side of his face and he returned the kiss with fervour. 

“We are going to be fine Geralt,” Jaskier mumbled against his mouth, “I promise.”

Geralt almost whined as the young man pulled away. He wanted to keep him there and kiss him until they were both breathless and then kiss him some more for good measure. But Jaskier slipped from his grasp and he had no choice but to follow the Captain onto the dock. 

With Renfri and Havi flanking them, and then Yarpen joining them with two of his men, the group of pirates wove their way between the sailors towards the harbour. 

The Harbour Master, a squat man in a flat cap, hurried over to them and a moment later was sent away again with a warm smile and a significantly heavier purse. 

Renfri spotted the small trading post and they took up inconspicuous positions around it, all pretending to be interested in the wares, all keeping watch of The Green Dragon.

The noise of the harbour market filled the air, and Geralt assumed many of the squares and side streets in Havana would be very similarly set up. Little stalls and lean-to’s, men and women with baskets and trays, vendors loudly selling their wares, children getting in the way underfoot, the odd stubborn mule braying irritably as their owner tried to encourage them on, the chatter of the people inspecting what was on offer, the clunking of wooden wheels over divots in the cobble stone road, the ordering of a Red Coat as they tried to keep the crowd moving. 

Geralt was keeping a particular eye on the soldier and looking out for others that might come their way. The threat of his secret being exposed here was very real and Geralt’s heart thudded in his ears.

They watched the crew of The Green Dragon humphing boxes, crates, barrels, and sacks onto the dock where a gaggle of Red Coats stood guard over the wares. The goods were carried under armed guard up to a warehouse.

“Anything interesting?” came a voice from behind them.

Geralt whipped round, hand flying to the hilt of his sword, but he huffed with relief when he saw Borch with Téa and Véa.

“Bloody hell,” Jaskier exclaimed dramatically, hand over his heart in startled shock, “Where the fuck did you come from?”

Borch indicated the Three Jackdaws docked at the other end of the harbour.

“The storm blew us most of the way. We got here not long after The Green Dragon did. I knew you lot wouldn’t be far behind,” Borch smiled pleasantly at them.

Jaskier shook his head with forced annoyance but his relief at seeing Borch alive was written very clearly across his face. 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d made it,” the young man admitted with subtle sorrow dancing in his eyes.

“Well I did my boy, and it looks like you’ve already got a plan,” Borch placed a friendly hand on Jaskier’s shoulder.

Jaskier quickly explained what they were doing as Renfri turned her focus back on the Galleon. She used her spyglass to watch the parade of cargo be taken from the ship. 

“That looks like the last of it,” she said.

They all turned their attention to the Galleon. The minutes ticked by and then they saw the Captain waltz down onto the dock. He chatted brazenly with some of the Red Coats, gathered his crew around him and went up to the warehouse.

“Wait! They haven’t unloaded the slaves!” Renfri frowned, “Yennefer said that the slaves were being sold to Foltest right?”

“She did. Maybe they are going to be taken to a plantation further up the coast?” Jaskier glanced at Havi who thought the same.

“So, the slaves are still on the ship?” Yarpen threw his arms up, “Well let’s go then! Slaves and ledgers in one quick in and out.”

There was a ripple of agreement and they started to make their way cautiously to The Green Dragon.

Geralt couldn’t help feeling uneasy. Something felt off about this. Something felt wrong. And he didn’t like it at all. He wanted to tell himself he was being stupid, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this ‘simple’ mission of theirs was about to get a whole lot more complicated.


	27. The Green Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all. Comments and feedback are always appreciated!!!

The Green Dragon was just as impressive up close as it had been out at sea. Even though cracks scarred her dark green hull and her sails looked a little worse for wear, her sheer size compared to The Lark made her a formidable vessel. Two gun-decks, triple mast, a serious triumph of British shipbuilding.

The jetty along where she was docked was being guarded by two Red Coats. Bayonetted rifles, swords and pistols at their hips, declining access to the ship for the general public.

From where they hovered by a merchant’s stall, Jaskier spotted a rowboat tied loosely to the boardwalk just one over from where the galleon was anchored. He thought they could use it to approach the blind side of the ship and climb on board without being seen. Borch had pointed out that the Three Jackdaws was docked closer than the other pirate ships and suggested that the rowboat could then be used to ferry the freed slaves to her. It would take about three trips to get everyone back to safety, but if they were quiet and didn’t draw attention to themselves, he was positive they could pull it off. Jaskier agreed and Yarpen shrugged, saying that it was a good a plan as any.

Renfri and Véa were asked to stay on the docks and keep an eye on the soldiers. As the rest set off for the rowboat, Geralt had caught Jaskier’s arm and voiced his unease. 

“I just can’t shake the feeling that there’s something…more to this,” he grumbled.

Jaskier placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly.

“I don’t like it either,” his blue eyes were dark with misgiving, “But we have to try. Those people on that ship need us.”

Geralt nodded, glad that Jaskier shared his doubts, but still wound tight with anxiety, worry and trepidation. He was struggling to force it away so that he could focus on the task at hand.

Jaskier pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and tugged at Geralt’s sleeve to come with him. He followed Jaskier, pulse thundering under his skin, and joined the others who were jumping into the rowboat. 

It could just about hold everyone, rocking slightly as they slotted in. It was snug but they were able settle without any mishaps. The owner of the boat spotted them but after Jaskier distracted him with his animated wit and charm, and a flash of coin, the gangly man agreed to let them borrow it as long as they brought it back in one piece. 

With Havi and Geralt on the oars, they cut through the water swiftly and pulled up in the shadow of The Green Dragon. One of Yarpen’s crew stayed with the rowboat as the others scaled the side of the galleon. There were enough ledges in the wood to get a good foothold and once they reached the gun ports, climbing became easy.

Geralt reached the top first and peered over the side. 

The air was hot and still, creating a shimmer on the main deck of The Green Dragon, which was almost twice as big as The Lark’s. Cannons, boxes, coils of rope, splinters of wood, the odd barrel, a tangle of netting, and one Red Coat lounging by the main mast.

Geralt signalled to the others who were coming up beside him and pointed to the solitary soldier.

“He’s alone,” Geralt husked, “But there might be more below.”

Jaskier nodded, scanning the deck with those keen blue eyes.

“We can take him,” Yarpen hissed, “His back is to us.”

Borch motioned to Téa who slipped gracefully onto the deck, pulled a knife from her belt and stalked towards the Red Coat like a cat, keeping low with feather light footsteps. The soldier made a strangled gulping noise as his neck was slit and blood spilled down his front. Téa quietly lowered him to the ground, his body slumping in her arms.

The others joined her on the main deck, Yarpen looking slightly annoyed that he hadn’t been able to get into a fight.

There was the static of apprehension between them as they paused a moment to see if they had been heard. 

Satisfied, Borch strode towards the middle of the deck and gave the galleon a hasty inspection.

“Yarpen, take your man and Téa to the Captain’s quarters and find the ship’s log and the ledgers. The rest of us will go and find the slaves,” he glanced at them as if waiting for disagreement.

None came and the party split up.

Geralt bumped shoulders with Jaskier as they hurried over to the nearest grated hatch leading to the decks below. The young man gave him a soft smile and Geralt tried to let it ease the simmering tension that ran through him. 

“Where are they being held again?” Havi asked as they descended into the gloom.

“Yennefer said the second deck,” Jaskier took the lead and they followed him down another level.

Geralt’s eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light and he could see the lives of the galleon’s crew scattered around him in hats and coats, books and playing cards, mugs and bottles.

He could hear the gentle lapping of water at the hull and the sound of their cautious footsteps, the pattering of his own heart in his chest.

The majority of the second deck was open and rigid lines of cannons stood either side. Jaskier led them over to the door at the stern end of the deck. It was made of the same lacquered wood as the walls but had a heavy-duty bar lock keeping it closed.

“This must be it,” Havi grumbled, immediately beginning to pick the lock.

In his alertness, Geralt was sure he could hear movement from the deck below and as he turned a group of Red Coats appeared by the steps that ascended through the ship. They froze in shock and Geralt caught the attention of the others.

“Hey!” one of the soldiers barked, “You there! What are you doing? You’re not supposed to be here!”

He marched towards them, flanked by four more, all slightly panicked by actually being faced with intruders.

“Come quietly and there wont be any trouble,” the leading Red Coat said raptly.

“Havi, get that open. We will deal with this lot,” Jaskier grit his teeth, sliding his sword from his belt and twirling it nonchalantly.

Geralt withdrew his own blade from his back, its familiar weight and balance soothing and focusing him.

He watched the soldiers fan out. They each put on a mask of bravado as they closed in on the pirates.

Borch moved first, throwing a blade he seemed to have whipped out of nowhere straight into the chest of the leading Red Coat. It hit its mark with a thud and the man keeled over with a grunt.

The deck erupted in a fierce clash of swords and bayonets that didn’t last for very long.

Geralt sidestepped the Red Coat that tried to rush him and swung his blade in a neat arc, slashing the man across the back. The soldier stumbled, jabbing blindly with his bayonetted rifle. Geralt caught the barrel of the rifle, yanked it from his hands and cracked him over the head with it. The man sprawled to the ground and Geralt speared him in the gut with his sword.

He snapped his attention to Jaskier who had just ducked an attack, used his planted weight to barge into the man and then stabbed him twice in quick succession as he lost his balance. He caught Geralt’s eye and threw a wink at him.

Borch was standing over another dead Red Coat, a knife sticking out of his jugular, and aimed another at the last soldier who was trying to flee. It thunked deep into the man’s back and he clattered headfirst down the flight of stairs.

Geralt let himself breathe but constricted again when a commotion sounded from above. Yarpen Zigrin’s bearded face peered down at them from the opening of the steps.

“Well that’s fucking shite!” he huffed, glaring at the carnage on the deck, “We missed a whole motherload of fun!”

“Did you get what Yennefer asked for?” Borch quirked an eyebrow at him.

“We got it,” Téa answered for him, coming down to join her Captain and indicating a bulging satchel slung over her shoulder.

“And the slaves?” Yarpen hopped down the steps and folded his arms across his chest.

Jaskier glanced back at Havi.

“Almost got it Captain,” Havi narrowed his eyes as he jimmied the lock.

There was a click and the padlock fell to the floor. Havi swung the bar across the door open and turned the handle.

The room looked like a makeshift holding cell. It was square with one small window casting light down onto iron bars bolted to the bare floorboards. Attached to the bars were lengths of chain ending in crude looking shackles, but there were no slaves.

Geralt could feel that sense of foreboding pitting his stomach, and he could see Jaskier’s rising frustration.

“Well? Where are they?” Yarpen pushed his way between them and glowered at the empty space.

“They must have been moved before we got here,” Havi stood from where he had been inspecting the chains.

“Shit,” Jaskier turned away in a flurry of limbs and tramped back towards the steps.

Geralt hurried after him and caught up to him halfway along the first deck.

“Jask, we’ll find them,” he gruffed, trying to catch hold of Jaskier but the young man flinched away from his touch.

“No, don’t do that. Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear,” Jaskier was bristling, his blue eyes bright with anger.

Geralt felt a sinking feeling in his chest.

“Why couldn’t it for once have gone my way? Just once. Risking the lives of my crew, my friends, you? I can’t lose anyone else Geralt, I just…I just can’t,” there were furious tears in Jaskier’s eyes, and he was shaking.

Geralt reached for him, tugging him into a tight embrace. Jaskier resisted at first but eventually gave in, tucking his head against Geralt’s shoulder, arms hanging limply at his sides.

“Jaskier, we need to regroup. Take a moment to just breath, and then we’ll figure it out. I’ve seen you come through worse than this, and you always come up with something,” Geralt rumbled, pressing his nose into Jaskier’s hair.

“Fuck you Geralt,” Jaskier mumbled.

Geralt leaned back so that Jaskier was forced to look up at him.

“Why?” he frowned.

“For being…” Jaskier gestured vaguely at him, “you.”

The fire was fading in Jaskier’s eyes and Geralt chuckled.

“Oh really? And I thought you liked….me?” he grinned, mirth in his eyes.

“Oh, shove off,” Jaskier pushed at him lightly before surging forwards and capturing Geralt’s mouth in a chaste kiss.

Geralt growled deep in his throat, pulling Jaskier flush against him and cupping the back of his neck as he deepened the kiss.

Jaskier’s hands found hold along Geralt’s jaw, thumbs swiping back and forth across his cheeks as their lips moved together.

Geralt’s skin prickled and his gut tightened, and his heart was banging about in his chest like his own little marching band. He could feel Jaskier’s heat mingling with his own as he finally broke the kiss, pressing his lips to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth, to his cheek, just below his eye.

“Geralt,” Jaskier sighed softly, tucking a stray lock of silver hair behind Geralt’s ear, “What would I do without you?”

The noise of the others coming up from the deck below had Geralt grumbling and he laced his fingers with Jaskier’s, pulling him up the steps to the main deck. He had hoped there would be a slight breeze to help cool him off, but the air was stiflingly thick, and the harsh sun leered at them from a cloudless sky.

Jaskier pecked him warmly on the cheek, blue eyes swimming with unspoken emotion, squeezed his hand then slipped away as he went to peer over the side of the ship. Geralt followed Jaskier’s gaze and saw the two Red Coats still standing guard. He could just about see the outlines of Renfri and Véa in the shadows of a lean-to.

“Well put it this way,” came Borch’s voice as the others made their way onto the main deck, “If the slaves had been on board, this would have been a very successful endeavour.”

“Yeah, the plan worked perfectly, apart from, you know, one of the fucking main essential elements,” Yarpen snapped.

“Yes well, we adapt,” Borch shrugged, making his way back over to the side of the galleon they had climbed up.

Yarpen’s crewman was still waiting for them in the rowboat at the bottom and Geralt knew that they would have been able to get all of the slaves to safety without being caught. Anger resonated inside him, but he bit it back, controlling it as Jaskier had done.

Where had the slaves been taken and how the fuck did the Red Coats move them off the ship so quickly?

That pulsating unease was back, and he couldn’t shake it as he climbed down the side of The Green Dragon then helped Havi row back to the docks.

Renfri had spotted them and raced over with Véa hot on her heels.

“What happened?” she was practically vibrating with concern as she offered Jaskier her hand and hauled him up onto the dock.

“The slaves weren’t there,” Jaskier said tightly, running a hand through his hair, “They’ve already been moved.”

“But how is that possible?” Renfri gaped, hands on her hips as she stared at her Captain.

Jaskier shrugged.

“Maybe we can ask whoever’s holding them when we find them,” he sneered.

“Now what do we do Captain?” Havi narrowed his eyes slightly, keeping his expression very controlled, even though Geralt knew he was just as upset as Jaskier.

The young Captain glanced at the sun slowly making its way towards the horizon.

“We drink,” he said simply.

“Look, normally I’d agree with you, but surly you’d want to find where the slaves are being kept before drowning your sorrows at the impossibility of it all?” Yarpen was trying and failing to hide his bafflement. 

Geralt was struggling to understand Jaskier’s reasoning but Borch had an amused look on his face and Renfri just rolled her eyes.

“All of the merchants and sailors who were around the harbour today will be at the taverns,” she sighed, “and Havana has no shortage of those. At least one of them will know about where the slaves are being held, and with enough drink in them, tongues will wag.”

“We’ll have to split up to cover more ground but before the night is out, we should know where the slaves are,” Jaskier concluded for her.

Clever, very clever, thought Geralt with that swell of pride rolling through him again as he looked at the young man.

“Well, can I suggest that Yarpen takes the log and ledgers to The Lodge. Just so that they don’t fall foul of what we intend to do here,” Borch hummed, glancing at the shorter man, “And tell Yennefer I will be heading her way once our business here in Havana is concluded."

“Aye, alright. Fine. I’ve got a few things to say to that witch myself anyway,” Yarpen grumbled, taking the satchel from Téa and stuffing it under one arm.

Jaskier nodded his thanks, then swept his gaze across the harbour.

“Borch, gather more of your crew and take the west side of the harbour. I’ll pull together some of mine and we’ll take the east and meet you in the middle. Spread out among the taverns and see what you can learn. We’ll meet back here around midnight,” Jaskier spoke with authority and Borch inclined his head.

“Safe travels Yarpen Zigrin. May the winds bring us together again,” Borch smiled warmly at Yarpen then strode off towards his ship with Téa and Véa marching after him.

Jaskier lead the way back towards The Lark and they bid farewell to Yarpen and his crew as they approached where The Bearded Beauty was docked.

“You’re quite something Captain Jaskier,” Yarpen shook his hand firmly with a genuine smile.

“Likewise,” Jaskier beamed, “I hope we meet again.”

“Maybe next time you could even buy me a pint,” Yarpen chortled as he bounced up the gangplank and boarded his ship.

Jaskier laughed, waving him off and continuing towards The Lark.

Geralt stayed with Jaskier on the jetty while Renfri and Havi rounded up some of the crew to join them. At Jaskier’s request, Havi was to stay on the ship with the other rescues in the crew for their own safety. Jaskier didn’t want a repeat of Crooked Island and Havi accepted his Captain’s wishes but insisted that they came back to tell him once they knew the location of the slaves. Jaskier agreed.

“Geralt,” Jaskier hummed, now that they were alone and out of earshot from the others, “There is a particular tavern slightly further into the town where I want you to start. The Hutch and Barrel, just off the main street. Officers from the British ships often frequent there and you are the only one of my crew who has spent time among their social circles.”

“You think I’d have a better chance at getting something out of them?” Geralt glanced at Jaskier.

“I do,” the warmth and trust in Jaskier’s eyes flickered to pleading as he said, “But for God’s sake, please be careful.”

“I won’t let you down,” Geralt swallowed thickly.

“You never do,” Jaskier smiled at him.

Geralt felt light and fluttery under his gaze but it was tainted by the echoes of guilt for his part in what happened with the Cumberland Estate. I am letting you down, he thought bitterly.

Jaskier pressed a soft kiss to Geralt’s cheek.

“Go,” he mused, “Before I change my mind and drag you along with me instead.”

“I’d prefer that,” Geralt grinned at him, masking the wave of dark emotion.

Jaskier gave him a playful shove.

“Captain’s orders,” he pouted.

Geralt bubbled with laughter and he closed the gap between them, hands fisting in Jaskier’s lapel and steeling a quick, hard kiss.

He felt Jaskier melt against him and he had to force himself to let the young man go.

“You be careful too,” Geralt rumbled over his shoulder as he turned away to go and find The Hutch and Barrel.

Jaskier smirked, flipping him the bird and Geralt couldn’t help but let affection for him drown out the throb of worry. 

He travelled with pace through the sandstone buildings bracketing the main street leading off from the harbour. There were still plenty of people about as the evening crept in and he had to dodge and weave through the crowds going about their business.

He paused at the base of a palm tree and swept his amber gaze along both sides of the street. Merchant, tailor, blacksmith, grocer, tavern but not he one he was looking for, apothecary. He pushed on through the throng of people.

The dry heat of the day was turning into humidity as fluffy clouds encroached the vast blue sky.

Geralt plucked at his collar, trying to ignore the beads of sweat trickling down his back.

He glanced over his shoulder, just about being able to see the harbour behind him and narrowed his eyes at the buildings around him. 

There it was, tucked on a street corner. The Hutch and Barrel.

He strode towards it but before he made it to the door, he was almost bowled over by a cloaked someone who seemed in a desperate hurry.

“Oh I’m sorry I-“ panted a female voice. She looked up as her hood slid off and froze rigidly to the spot.

Geralt chewed his cheek in confusion.

He didn’t know this woman, but she seemed to know him. Her brown eyes dragged across his face to his ashen hair to the sword on his back.

“You! You’re him! Geralt the Pirate Hunter!” she gasped.

“Um…yes?” Geralt frowned, a pang of dread shooting through him, “And you are?”

“Not here. Quickly. We have little time,” she beckoned him into an alley and curiosity won over caution, so he followed her.

She tucked her dark curly hair back into her hood as she pulled it up. There was a spray of freckles across her nose and the intensity of her brown eyes took his breath away. He had to admit, she was very beautiful.

“What’s this about?” Geralt folded his arms across his chest.

“My name is Triss Merigold,” she said briskly.

“You’re with The Lodge, working for Foltest,” Geralt remembered what Phillipa and Yennefer had told him. 

“I am. Yennefer said you were travelling with Jaskier,” Triss narrowed her eyes at him.

Jumping on the defence, Geralt opened his mouth but she waved it off.

“The ins and outs don’t matter. What matters is you know where to find Jaskier?”

“He’s around the harbour somewhere,” Geralt tried to recall if Jaskier had mentioned which tavern he was going to first.

“Geralt you must get to him. He is in danger,” she kept her voice low, but the urgency and fear were real.

Geralt went cold.

“What?”

“I just received word from Yennefer. There were never any slaves on The Green Dragon. I spoke with Foltest and he was growing impatient that you hadn’t delivered on your contract yet, so he leaked information about a convoy heading here. He knew somehow that word would get to Jaskier about the convoy and he was certain the ruse of slaves on board would lure him in. When word came from the galleon this morning as it made port that it had been attacked by pirates, and then The Lark was spotted in the harbour, Foltest began organising his men. He’s sending them down to the harbour right now, and I came as quick as I could to warn him. It was a trap Geralt. Do you understand? He is going to hang Jaskier at dawn!”


	28. The Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always folks, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated.

They say that time grinds to a halt in a moment of crisis.

That the seconds feel like hours. That everything around you slows down. That the clarity of the moment is sharp and obvious.

That is not what happened to Geralt.

If anything, time sped up as he stared at Triss. Panic gripped him, his vision blurred, his heart raced in his chest, and he launched himself from the alley with blinkered focus and a lack of rational thought. Blundering through the crowd of people, blinded by overwhelming urgency and one single thought. Find Jaskier.

If he had just taken a moment to breath, to think, he might have seen the Red Coat slip into the alley behind him and arrest Triss Merigold. He might have seen the group of soldiers marching down the street as he ran ahead of them. He might have seen them follow him as he ducked down a side street and erupt onto the harbour front.

But he didn’t.

He stood, panting hard, searching the faces of the people still wandering about as the sun started to dip behind the horizon, most of whom sprang away from his crazed expression.

He didn’t have the first idea of where Jaskier had gone. The Captain was alone somewhere with his crew scattered among the taverns and Geralt just had to find him before Foltest’s men did.

Blood pounded in his ears as he tried to swallow the fear and panic.

His breath choked in his chest when he spotted Renfri chatting with a few sailors on the veranda of ‘The Barnacled Buoy.’ He stormed over to her and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Geralt? What’s going-?”

“Where’s Jaskier?” he practically shouted at her.

“What-?” she broke off, her eyes blowing wide as she looked over his shoulder, “Red Coats!”

“JASKEIR, NOW!” he roared at her, his thundering heart almost painful.

“Geralt! Behind you!” Renfri leaped to his side, drawing her sword.

As what she was saying slowly registered, he turned stiffly to see the soldiers lining up behind him along the harbour.

His stomach dropped. He couldn’t move. Frozen to the spot with unbridled dread.

Renfri stared at the Red Coats, then back to Geralt who hadn’t reached for his own blade. Her face fell.

“What have you done?” she rasped.

“Renfri?” came Jaskier’s voice.

The Pirate Captain appeared in the doorway to the tavern and tensed, blue eyes bright with alarm as he took in the scene before him.

“Jaskier! Run!” Renfri screamed, throwing herself towards him.

Geralt’s limbs weren’t responding in his shock and he could only watch helplessly as the soldiers rushed forwards and tackled Renfri and Jaskier to the ground. 

The sailors on the veranda jumped out of the way, and more of the tavern’s patrons were appearing at the doorway to watch.

The scuffle was brief, the two pirates outnumbered four to one, and they were dragged away from the tavern, restrained by the Red Coats.

Jaskier writhed and kicked, snarling and clawing as his arms were twisted behind his back and he was forced to his knees. He stared at Geralt, confusion and pleading in his expression as he fought bitterly.

Geralt was barely breathing. An icy cold crept down his spine and settled through his nerves. 

Renfri slammed her head back into the man restraining her, shattering his nose with the impact and she rolled away from him as his hands flew up to clutch his face. She thudded her boot into the crotch of another soldier as he tried to grab at her. The man keeled over and she kicked him in the face.

“Tell her to stand down,” drawled a voice from behind Geralt, “It’s not her I’m interested in, but I won’t hesitate to kill her if she continues to cause trouble.”

Governor Foltest waltzed between his men to sneer at Jaskier. Rifles were pointed at Renfri and Jaskier jolted with panic.

“Renfri stop!” he choked out.

Renfri glanced at him, growled at the look on his face, removed her foot from where she was stamping on the soldier’s fingers, and let herself be restrained again.

“Well, well. Captain Julian Pankratz,” the Governor circled Jaskier slowly, clearly enjoying the distress radiating from the young man, “I’ve been after you for quite some time.”

“You obviously weren’t trying very hard,” Jaskier spat at him.

Foltest back handed him, the force snapping Jaskier’s head to one side, the noise ringing out across the harbour.

Geralt felt a physical twist of pain jolt through him. He was trying to force his brain into gear, to do something, anything, but the risk of getting Jaskier killed was too great and he couldn’t take on all these men at once. 

Jaskier spat blood onto the ground, a scarlet trail running down his chin from where his lip had split, glaring up at Foltest with cold defiance dancing in his blue eyes.

“Look at you now,” the Governor leered at him, “The great Pirate Captain. The thorn in my side. The stubborn piece of shit under my boot. The amount of money you’ve cost me, the trade, these islands, and their citizens. I was just content with having you killed, but personally getting to witness your hanging brings me a far greater joy. So, really, I should thank you Geralt.”

Foltest turned to Geralt and the look on Jaskier’s face felt like a dagger being pushed into his heart.

“I hired you to kill this pirate scum. Your reputation promised you were worth the fee. So imagine my surprise when word got to me that you had actually joined his crew,” the Governor shook his head slightly, a tsk on his tongue, but then his hand closed over Geralt’s shoulder and an ugly smile twisted his lips, “But I must admit, you have played your part in all of this beautifully.”

Blood rushed to Geralt’s face and he couldn’t bring himself to meet Jaskier’s desperate gaze.

“It’s good that you bumped into my agent back there. She wasn’t very sure where to find him, but you were able to lead my men straight to him,” Foltest crooned.

No! Geralt wanted to wail, that’s not what happened, it’s not what it looks like! But then, he realised, to Jaskier and Renfri that’s exactly what it looked like. He hadn’t lifted a finger during the arrest, just stood and watched it happen. He couldn’t defend himself. Any words he said now would sound hollow and like a lie.

Foltest mistook his silence for stoicness and continued to tear his heart to shreds before his very eyes.

“And Geralt, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have been able to warn my dear friend Lord Cumberland about the threat to his shipment of slaves. Your information in Kingston was invaluable.”

Geralt could see the realisation cross Jaskier’s face and then the exact moment when his heart shattered. Geralt wanted to look away, but he forced himself to keep looking at the young man, the man he loved. Jaskier looked utterly broken, limp and trembling in the soldier’s grasp. There were tears in his eyes and he was struggling to catch his breath, and the hurt and the pain on his face almost drove Geralt to his knees. 

He wanted to tell Jaskier that Foltest was lying. That what the Governor was telling him isn’t what actually happened. That he had wanted to tell him the truth the second he realised his mistake but that he was scared, a coward, selfish. But it was too late now. Geralt’s tongue felt thick in his mouth and he couldn’t form words even if he wanted to.

“You sonofabitch!” Renfri screeched at him, “You whoreson!”

The Governor laughed at her.

“What? Did you think he was one of you? He infiltrated your crew so successfully and fooled you all. He is a Pirate Hunter. The White Wolf. Unfeeling, ruthless, and never misses a target,” Foltest puffed up.

Geralt felt sick to the stomach.

Jaskier was looking at him. Geralt could see the tightness of his jaw and the devastation in his eyes. Everything Jaskier thought he had known was crumbling around him and Geralt could see it in the way he slumped forwards, in the way the soldiers were having to keep him upright. The light that usually shone so bright and vibrant was gone, snuffed out, and all that was left was the tired, defeated, scared young man Geralt had come to know and love over the past few weeks. He had done this to him. It was his fault.

He should have just told him. Whatever would have happened had to be better than…fucking this.

It occurred to Geralt that Foltest knew exactly how that information came to him and had twisted Geralt’s betrayal to suit him. And since Geralt seemingly wouldn’t or couldn’t stand up for himself, he drove his point home by pressing a bag of coin into Geralt’s hand.

“Here. The rest of the payment for the contract. You’ve earned it,” he grinned, then leaned in close so that only Geralt could hear, “Consider yourself lucky that I’m in a good humour. I suspected that Triss was a mole. I was counting on her trying to warn him. I had her followed but the fact that it was you who led me to him just makes this…all the more delicious.”

The hatred for the man in front of him was nothing compared to the flash of hatred for himself that spiked through him. It was stronger than the guilt. It was stronger than the heartbreak. It was raw and hot and pulsing. It scorched him. It tore him apart. It crippled him.

“Come to the hanging tomorrow Geralt. See this end once and for all,” Foltest boomed loudly and Jaskier shuddered in the hold of the soldiers.

The Governor waved his hand at the men holding Renfri and they let her go, pushing her to the ground. She scrambled to her feet, reaching for her blade but at a dangerous flash of Foltest’s eyes, Jaskier cried out.

“No! Renfri please. Just go,” he begged brokenly. 

The pain in Renfri’s face, the tears brimming in her hazel eyes. Her expression was echoed in Jaskier’s and Geralt couldn’t look at them any longer.

“This isn’t over,” she snarled at Foltest, “You hear me?”

“Oh, it’s over. And you better get your nasty little crew out of here by morning because once your Captain is dead, I’m sending my men after you next,” the Governor sneered.

“Renfri,” Jaskier’s voice shook, ”As your Captain, I am ordering you to leave. Get the crew back to The Lark and just go.”

“Jaskier-“ she whimpered.

“Renfri please,” Geralt could hear the sob Jaskier was struggling to bite back.

Renfri hung her head, her shoulders slumping, wiping away the furious tears. She ran, throwing them one last look over her shoulder before disappearing down a street away from the harbour.

“Get him up and take him away. Have the noose ready for dawn,” Foltest said gleefully.

Jaskier was hauled to his feet and half dragged, half carried from the harbour. There was a hard edge to his expression and the venomous look he caught Geralt with forced the breath from Geralt’s chest.

As they passed Geralt, Jaskier jerked away from the soldiers holding him with such a ferocity that he was able to pull out of their grasp and lunged at Geralt.

Geralt caught his wrists as Jaskier went for his neck and they crashed backwards into the ground.

“After everything! EVERYTHING!” Jaskier screamed at him as he struggled in Geralt’s hold, “You fucking BASTARD.”

Geralt was able to hold him off but only just. He didn’t have the energy to put up much of a resistance. The pain that lacerated through his heart was suffocating him and it was all he could do to keep Jaskier from clawing his face off.

“Jask-“ he pleaded.

“I loved you,” the tears were streaming down Jaskier’s face, and each breath seemed to choke him, “Geralt-“

He broke off and dropped his head, the fight leaving him. Geralt felt him go lax in his grip and tried to reach for him but Jaskier was dragged away and pinned to the ground. A vicious kick thudded into Jaskier’s stomach and he grunted in pain but Geralt felt the blow as if it had landed on his own gut.

It hurt so much more than he ever thought it possibly could.

“Come on,” Foltest sighed, as if bored with the whole spectacle and he set off back into the town.

Jaskier was yanked to his feet and the last Geralt saw of him was the ripple of his blue coat.

He lay there, waiting for his body to go numb, to get used to the pain and filter it out like background noise. But it just kept coming, finding new ways to hurt him in places he didn’t even know existed. Physical pain he could deal with. Physical pain he had more than enough experience of. But this was new and terrifying, and he just wanted it to stop but he knew he didn’t deserve the respite. He should embrace it, welcome it. Let it devour him until there was nothing left. It ached through every muscle, every cell, every fibre of his being. It was tight in his gut and burrowing into his chest and tainting the very air he breathed. 

Slowly, he pushed himself up, arms shaking with weariness.

Those who had been watching were keeping their gazes averted.

Geralt stood on unsteady legs. He felt hollow. Empty. As if someone had scooped out the very essence of his being. No. Not someone. Him. He had done this.

He had so desperately wanted to keep Jaskier, to be with him and to…God. Fuck. To love him and be loved by him. He had lost it all. And he didn’t know what to do.

“Geralt?” came a low, soft voice behind him.

Geralt bristled with shame. He wanted to run. To hide away. But his feet wouldn’t move.

He just stood rigid, breathing hard, heart palpitating in his chest as the familiarity of that voice washed over him.

“Borch,” he managed to choke out.

The older man came into view. His expression was unreadable.

“Come and drink with me,” Borch said slowly.

Confusion flashed through him.

“Come on. We need to talk,” Borch gave him a gentle push.

Geralt stumbled slightly as his legs refused to obey him but eventually Borch managed to get him into the tavern.

No one would look at him and there was a strange tension in the air. The barkeep of The Barnacled Buoy greeted them with forced professionalism.

Geralt knew that their reservations came from just witnessing his involvement in the arrest of a wanted pirate, but he couldn’t help the way it fuelled his internalised self-loathing.

Borch sat him down at the bar and a whisky was placed in front of him.

“Drink Geralt,” Borch leaned against the bar next to him.

“Borch I-“

“Drink.”

Geralt did as he was told. He struggled to swallow his mouthful of strong amber liquid and he felt it burn down his gullet.

Borch was watching him with a curious expression.

“You…You saw?” Geralt managed to mumble through his stupor.

“Saw Governor Foltest use half-truths to gloat over his perceived enemy? Yes. I saw it all,” Borch’s voice was strangely calm and Geralt felt wildly disorientated.

“But how could you know-?”

“You are in love with Jaskier,” Borch scoffed at Geralt’s shocked expression, “Oh please Geralt. I’m old but I’m not blind. The pair of you can’t get enough of each other and I know you would never intentionally cause him harm.”

Geralt sat in stunned silence, trying to process what Borch was saying.

“You’ve found what satisfies the ache, fills the dark void. You were lucky enough to work out what, or in this case, who you want in life,” the older man hummed.

“But…but I fucked it all up,” Geralt could feel the tears welling in his eyes.

“Jaskier isn’t dead yet.”

“But-but he thinks I betrayed him! He thinks I was using him. Just fulfilling a contract,” Geralt spluttered.

“And there is still time to rectify your mistakes. Very little time, Geralt. But it’s enough.”

The hurt panged through him again as he thought about the look Jaskier had given him when Foltest revealed his involvement with the Cumberland shipment of slaves.

“You haven’t lost him yet Geralt. But if you wallow in your self-pity, Jaskier will die believing himself played for a fool,” Borch took a sip of his own whisky, giving Geralt a pointed look over the rim of his glass.

Geralt’s heartbeat quickened in his chest. The thought that there was still a chance, just a chance, was enough.

His mind raced and his breathing hitched in his chest.

“I know what I need to do but I can’t do it alone,” he glanced at Borch.

“I’m with you, of course,” the older man titled his head slightly.

“And I’ll need the crew of The Lark,” Geralt’s gut constricted and his mouth felt suddenly very dry.

“Renfri will listen,” Borch assured him.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you are about to offer her the way to rescue her oldest and dearest friend. Whatever bad blood is between you will wait.”

Geralt’s thoughts churned in his head and the flutter of hope warmed in his chest.

He downed the rest of his drink with a grimace, willing it to give him courage, and left Borch in the tavern.

The warm air caught in his lungs and the light of the moon cast a silver glow over the harbour.

As quick as his feet would carry him, Geralt headed for The Lark.

Nervous, terrified, but determined. 

He clattered up the gangplank and spilled onto the empty deck. It took his mind a moment to catch up as he looked about him desperately, then realised that the crew must be down below. He took a deep, steadying breath and then cautiously climbed down the steps.

Renfri was standing at the head of the small table, the crew gathered around her. The air crackled with anger and despair, and words were thrown back and forth as they tried to decide what to do.

Geralt paused by the bottom of the stairs and cleared his throat.

All eyes turned to him and Geralt was paralyzed with the realisation that he considered these people his family, and it wasn’t just Jaskier he had betrayed, but all of them as well. A fresh wave of guilt stabbed through him. He had to make it right.

“What the FUCK are you doing here?” Renfri whipped out her knife and advanced on him, “How dare you show your face here after what just happened, after what you did?”

She looked about ready to gut him and Geralt didn’t blame her. If the circumstances were different, he would have just laid down and let her. 

“I know. I know and I can’t even begin to put into words how sorry I am,” he managed to say, even through his throat felt tight and the words felt thick, “I’ll explain everything if you’ll let me. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I don’t expect it. And once this is all over with you can kill me if you want to, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have a reason.”

“And what could that possibly be? Huh?” Renfri snarled at him, “What more could you possibly want from us now that our Captain had been taken away.”

“I’m going to get him back,” Geralt blinked at her, tone firm and sure, “And I need your help to do it.”


	29. The Hanging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all amazing and I appreciate each and every one of you. Comments and feedback are always more than welcome!!

The star speckled navy sky was streaked with gold as the rising sun slowly began to peek over the horizon.

The market square lined with palm trees and small buildings, in the shadow of the Havana Town Hall, was steadily filling up with people, all gathering around the raised wooden gibbet in the centre and gazing at the hangman’s noose. 

The noose was at the end of a long length of rope that was attached to the crossbeam between two upright posts. Directly under the noose sat the trap door and just off to the side, the leaver that operated it. 

An excited chatter buzzed in the air as talk turned towards who the criminal destined for the rope might be.

Word of the dawn hanging had spread quickly, and Geralt would never understand the morbid facination for this spectacle. There were even children amongst the crowd and he felt a tight knot forming in his stomach.

From where he stood by an empty cart at the edge of the square opposite the Town Hall, he could see Borch, and then Renfri, positioned in the crowd either side of the scaffold. The crew from The Lark and the Three Jackdaws were scattered among the civilians, and keeping close to the patrolling Red Coats, waiting for the signal. Tumaini had been very nervous about being in such a mass of people, but Havi had assured her that they wouldn’t look twice at her. He was right. All eyes were on the gibbet.

Geralt felt strangely calm and focused, not unlike how he usually felt on a hunt. There was the underlying hum of nerves, but he kept it forcibly pushed down. He had his clear-cut objective and absolutely nothing was going to distract him from it.

He considered himself lucky that Renfri had even been willing to listen to what he had to say, never mind agree to back him and Borch up, but she seemed to accept his story and even though he knew she still hadn’t forgiven him, she had put it all aside for Jaskier’s sake. 

After all, he couldn’t do this without her.

There was a ripple of anticipation from the gathered crowd as the doors to the Town Hall opened and Governor Foltest emerged. He was swaddled in an ornate cloak and was puffed up like a peacock. He swept his gaze over the eager townsfolk then stepped to one side.

A man in an embroidered golden coat and tricorn hat, carrying a scroll with a look of disinterest on his face came first. He seemed to float down the steps and the crowd parted to allow him through. Behind him strode a tall, burly man, face hidden by a black hood. The executioner. He followed the first man up onto the gibbet and checked the noose. 

The crowd collectively held their breath.

Then, and Geralt almost jerked forwards when he saw him, came Jaskier, flanked by a Red Coat.

The young man had been beaten black and blue. His split lip was bleeding anew and there was a nasty cut starting on the bridge of his nose and ending halfway across his right cheek. Ugly bruises bloomed on his forehead, around his eyes, over his cheeks, down his neck and disappearing under the collar of his blood-spattered shirt. His hands were bound behind his back and he was barely putting one foot in front of the other, but he held his head high, even braving a look of nonchalance. 

Geralt burned hot with anger. He glared at Foltest who looked extremely smug as Jaskier was ushered towards the raised platform. 

He was limping heavily and struggling to keep up with the pace the solider was setting.

As they moved through the parted crowd, the civilians jeered and mocked. Jaskier kept his eyes forward, ignoring their barbed words.

Geralt couldn’t blame them. None of them knew who Jaskier was. To them, he was just some other pirate scum deserving of the noose. But Geralt couldn’t help the stab of distress that pulsed through him.

Jaskier paused by the scaffold and the Red Coat gave him a harsh poke. Geralt could see Jaskier’s bound hands flexing in apprehension behind his back as he started to climb wooden steps.

Geralt’s gut clenched when Jaskier stumbled as he was roughly pushed towards the noose.

He was fluttering with the need to rush over, and kill any bastard that got in his way, but he forced himself to hold back. The moment would come, but not yet. He scanned the gathered people, keeping an eye on where the patrolling Red Coats had settled in to watch. There were seven among the crowd now, and he could see members of each crew subtly edging closer to them. 

The man in the tricorn unfurled his scroll and started to speak.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz,” he drawled, his voice hushing the crowd, “You have been charged with the crime of piracy. Treason against the crown, his good majesty Charles the second, King of England, Ireland and Scotland. Of these charges you have been found guilty and here by sentenced to hang by the neck until dead.”

The man in the hood draped the coil of rope over Jaskier’s head and tightened it around his neck. Jaskier stood still, unwavering, unblinking, blue eyes bright with defiance. 

Geralt could hear his blood pounding in his ears as the man with the scroll continued, laying out the detail of some of Jaskier’s crimes. All of them were directly linked with interruption to the slave trade but Geralt wasn’t really listening because blue eyes met amber and he saw Jaskier stiffen. 

His expression broke Geralt’s heart. He had no way of telling Jaskier that he was here to rescue him and had to feel the pain and guilt of knowing that the young man probably thought he was here to just see the job done. He could see the tension in Jaskier’s jaw and across his shoulders. He could see the way he strained slightly against the rope binding his hands. He could see the utterly raw hurt flash in his eyes. Bile rose in his throat and it took everything he had to keep himself from breaking his position. 

He glanced at Renfri, then at Borch, each who nodded to him respectively. He could see that both crews were now filtered enough through the crowd to take on the Red Coats.

The man with the scroll had finished his ramblings and had tucked the scroll away into his coat pocket, stepping to one side and nodding to the executioner. 

A visible tremor shook Jaskier, his jaw muscles quivering as he cast his gaze up towards the cloudless sky. 

The hooded man’s hand closed around the leaver.

“Now!” shouted Geralt, springing into action.

The Red Coats were suddenly overwhelmed as they were set upon by the pirates. There were shouts and screams from the civilians as they tried to scramble away. 

In the confusion, Geralt surged towards the scaffold, ripping his sword from its sheath and brandishing it at the Red Coat who leaped into his path.

The clashing of swords rang through the square, drowned out by the hysteria of the crowd.

Geralt parried a blow that was aimed at his face and slashed the solider across the arm. The man howled and jabbed at him. Geralt sidestepped the attack, spun in a half-turn and slammed the pommel of his sword into the man’s temple. The Red Coat toppled to the ground.

“JUST HANG HIM!” came Governor Foltest’s screeched order.

“NO!” Geralt watched in horror as the leaver was pulled and Jaskier dropped. The rope twanged taught but Jaskier writhed and kicked desperately as the rope tightened and he struggled for air. The fall hadn’t broken his neck so Geralt still had time but there was too much ground to cover and he couldn’t see Renfri or Borch amongst the throng of panicking people.

Jaskier pulled at the bonds keeping his hands behind his back but his struggling was growing weaker as the life was choked out of him.

Geralt’s heart banged in his chest. Cold fear spread through his body. He reached to his hip and pulled Roach from his belt.

Breath coming in rugged snatches, he brought his pistol up to eye level, cocked it, and aimed.

The taught rope moved side to side as Jaskier’s body weight pendulumed below. Geralt matched its swaying rhythm. 

He had one shot. 

One.

The noise around him seemed distant, there was only the sound of his breath and his heart. The solid weight of Roach in his hand. The glare of the sun as it climbed the horizon. He could feel the beads of sweat running down his spine. 

He took a breath and pulled the trigger.

Jaskier landed heavily on the ground as the bullet tore through the rope. Geralt threw himself to his side.

He loosened the rope around Jaskier’s neck quickly, the young man spluttering and heaving in his arms as he tried to suck in lungful’s of air. 

Geralt untied Jaskier's hands and tried not to look at the skin rubbed raw by course hemp.

Jaskier’s fingers fisted in Geralt’s shirt, eyes barely focusing on his face.

“Geralt,” he rasped.

“Shh. Just hang on Jask, I’m gonna get you out of here,” Geralt was struggling to control the tears welling up in his eyes as he discarded the rope.

“You…I thought…You came back for me,” Jaskier was barely audible as he clung to Geralt desperately.

“I love you,” Geralt’s voice broke.

Jaskier swallowed thickly then grimaced in pain. He composed himself, breath rattling in his chest, gazing up at him with those impossibly blue eyes.

“Come on. We have to go,” Geralt tried to haul Jaskier to his feet but the young man let out a sharp grunt of pain and his knees buckled.

Concern bolted through Geralt.

“Worked me over pretty good,” there was a half smirk on Jaskier’s lips that faltered as another wave of pain careered through him.

“Stop talking. I’ve got you,” Geralt tucked an arm behind Jaskier’s knees and scooped him up.

Jaskier made a noise of protest through his gurning in pain but let his head bump into Geralt’s shoulder as Geralt carried him from under the scaffold.

Most of the civilians had run off. All of the Red Coats had been incapacitated. 

“Hurry it up!” Renfri shouted at him as he emerged into the square.

As quickly as he could, he ran after the Quarter Master, keeping Jaskier cradled to his chest.

“Someone stop them!” Foltest bellowed.

The band of pirates raced back to the harbour.

Worry panged in his gut as he realised Jaskier had passed out and he thundered onto the docks towards The Lark.

Borch took his crew back to the Three Jackdaws and Renfri helped him manoeuvre Jaskier on board their ship.

They carried him into his Cabin, Renfri shouting orders to set sail as they went, and placed him gently on the bed. Geralt hated the way Jaskier’s head lolled to one side. He had the overwhelming urge to lay on the bed next to him and curl up into his warmth. Just feel him close and safe and alive.

Borch had sent over the doctor he had in his crew and the man had set up in preparation for Jaskier’s arrival.

“Is he going to be okay?” Renfri chewed her fingers as the doctor cut away Jaskier’s shirt.

Geralt felt his stomach plummet and his blood ran cold. Jaskier’s arms, chest and torso were littered in purple bruises and angry welts. 

“Oh dear,” the doctor frowned.

He very gently ghosted his fingers down Jaskier’s chest and sides.

“A few broken ribs,” the man studied the livid red mark on Jaskier’s neck left by the rope, “Friction burn and probably damage to the larynx.”

Geralt choked on his breath.

“He…he sings. He’s a singer,” he stammered.

“With the appropriate remedies and plenty of rest, he should recover,” the doctor glanced at him.

Geralt’s legs felt weak and he had to hold onto the partition to keep himself upright. 

Jaskier looked so small and fragile splayed out on the bed, and a deep aching hurt settled in Geralt’s chest.

The doctor continued his examination of Jaskier, feeling across his stomach and then down his legs.

“No internal bleeding. Maybe a bad sprain,” he nodded in satisfaction, “Your Captain will live.”

Renfri let out a breathless laugh and Geralt felt oddly light and weary. The tension he had been holding released and his muscles spasmed as he forced himself to stay on his feet. He let his eyes flutter shut for a moment, trying to focus on slowing his jittery breaths. Jaskier was going to pull through this. He was going to be okay, and Geralt wanted, with every fibre of his being, to be by his side through it all. That is, if Jaskier still wanted him. That thought soured in the back of his mind, but he pushed it away as he gazed upon the face of the man he loved. 

“Now please leave so I can get to work,” the doctor said sternly.

Geralt went to protest but Renfri shot him a look and begrudgingly he followed her back onto the main deck.

The sun was higher in the sky now and its dazzling heat was thick in the air.

Geralt stumbled blindly to the edge of the ship, watching the water lap at the brig’s hull as she pulled away from the dock.

The relief coursing through him was mixed with a strange numbness and uncertainty. 

He let himself feel the guilt and sorrow as the image of Jaskier hanging by a rope, suffocating and dying played again and again behind his eyes. He had come so close to losing everything he cared about, everything he had been building over the last few weeks. Geralt wanted to weep.

He felt rather than saw Renfri beside him and kept his gaze fixed on the harbour. There were a few soldiers hovering about as if not quite sure to give chase or not, and he could see the Three Jackdaws moving away from the docks as the gentle breeze filled her sails.

“Geralt,” Renfri leaned on the lacquered wood beside him, “We got him back. Your plan worked.”

He heard the hitch in her breath as she paused.

“I still hate you, you know. Whether it was intentional or not, what happened with the Cumberland slaves, what happened here in Havana, it’s your fault.”

Geralt hung his head in shame, not quite sure what to say to her.

“But you are still part of this crew. For now,” she added with a slight tightness in her voice, “Unless Jaskier says otherwise. So, I expect your full commitment to the work I give you. And I’ll let you know when he wakes up.”

Geralt glanced at her.

“Of course,” he dipped his head to her, respect and sincerity burning in his expression.

“Good,” she said, a humour tainting her hazel eyes, “You can start by helping Paul peel potatoes.”


	30. The New Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well folks this is it. The final chapter. I don't even know what to say! The support and love I have received from you all has been overwhelming and I never thought I'd have this much fun with a writing project. A particular shout out to my friend Phoebe who has been my wonderful beta and solid rock through out this. Without your support and encouragement I probably wouldn't have half the confidence I do today. And a mention for TinyThoughts as well. Your love and enthusiasm has been an absolute joy to bounce off of and I can't wait to see what you think of this chapter!!
> 
> As always, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!
> 
> And without further ado, here it is! The last chapter of The Lesser Evil.

The Lark cut through the waves at a steady speed. Her sails bulged with the wind and the black flag at the top of the main mast rippled back and forth in all its glory.

The spray off the sea misted in the humid air and burned off quickly under the relentless sun.

With nothing but blue sky above and miles of choppy ocean in all directions, there was a sense of optimistic ease on board The Lark.

Their Captain was on the mend, their destination Kingston, and the Three Jackdaws bumping along beside them. The riled tension of the past few days was finally dissipating.

Geralt had been working hard under Renfri’s orders, desperate to prove to her, himself, and the rest of the crew that he was serious about wanting to be one of them. The attitude of the crew towards him had improved slightly as he tried his best to make up for his mistakes. Renfri was polite but Geralt could still feel her reluctance to forgive him and he didn’t blame her. He wasn’t completely convinced that she had given up the idea of flaying him yet. 

Havi had assured him she would come around eventually. His display of kindness had surprised Geralt but Havi brushed it off saying that Geralt was punishing himself enough for what had happened without needing others to do the same. 

When he had been invited to take part in a game of cards, he had leaped at the chance to be involved. Tumaini had been eager to show him that she was learning to play too, though she was terrible at keeping a straight face. The laughter and nonsense that followed had Geralt feeling like part of the family again, and he hadn’t realised how much he had missed it until it was almost taken away.

Even though life on the ship carried on with a semblance of normality, everything the crew did was tainted with stiff worry.

Jaskier had been in and out of consciousness for the past four days, taking ill with a fever on the second day which had greatly concerned the doctor. Geralt had come in to check on him and felt his insides crumple. Seeing him laying there, pale and shivering and drenched in sweat. Bandages around his torso, his wrists and hands. The cut on his cheek and the abrasion on his neck glistening with some sort of ointment. The bruises littering his skin tinging with yellow. Tears pricked at Geralt’s eyes, and a suffocating guilt had followed him around as Renfri kept him busy with various jobs on the ship.

But that morning the blanket of worry had been lifted by the doctor announcing that Jaskier’s fever had broken in the night. The joy of the crew vibrated right through The Lark and Geralt could feel the veil of sorrow shift from him.

As he looked out at the Three Jackdaws gliding a few hundred yards from their starboard side, he felt strangely hopeful, even though there was a deep-seated anxiety about what the future held for him. 

He was quite ready to be told to leave and never come back once they docked in Kingston. It was the more pleasant of the outcomes that kept swirling about in his mind. It would hurt, but at least he could go knowing that Jaskier was alive and well. After everything, that could be enough for him and it was more than he deserved.

“Geralt?” Renfri’s voice sounded behind him.

He winced like a caught child flunking off their chores and quickly resumed his mopping of the main deck.

The Quarter Master paused beside him, letting out a long sigh as she rubbed her face in her hands.

“He’s awake,” she blinked slowly at him, “He’s asking for you.”

Geralt’s pulse spiked and a dryness crept into his mouth as he glanced at her.

“Just…just leave that, I’ll get someone else to continue,” Renfri gestured vaguely at the mop and bucket. 

There was nothing in her expression that might give away what lay in store for him, so he just dampened his lips with his tongue and gave her a curt nod.

The walk to the Captain’s cabin felt long and laboured. Each step placed and difficult. The thudding of his heart heavy in his chest.

He knocked on the door and was greeted by the doctor. The man gave him a smile then scooted out of his way, bundling off towards Renfri.

Geralt took a breath and entered.

Hidden by the partition, he had a moment to compose himself before coming around to face the Captain.

Jaskier was propped up in a sitting position by a few pillows. He had a good colour in his cheeks and his eyes were bright, no longer the sickly dull they had been with the fever. Fresh bandages had been wrapped around his chest and wrists, and the blanket covered his legs. The stains of the bruises still showed on his skin but the injuries to his cheek and neck seemed to be healing nicely. 

The young man’s expression remained tightly controlled when his gaze met Geralt’s.

“Hello Geralt,” his voice was raspy and thin. He indicated the chair that had been propped up next to the bed and Geralt sank down onto it.

“How…how are you feeling?” Geralt said thickly, his own voice betraying his guilt.

“Better,” Jaskier said simply.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The imposed calm. The not knowing what was going on inside Jaskier’s head. A rush of emotion, the need to explain himself, bubbled to the surface and Geralt couldn’t stop himself.

“Jaskier-I-Look-I didn’t-“

“Renfri told me everything,” Jaskier grimaced slightly as he pushed himself more upright.

Geralt bit his lower lip.

“Geralt. I just want to know why. Why didn’t you tell me?” Jaskier was breathing hard and slow, imploring in his eyes.

“I wanted to. I almost did several times but…” Geralt ran a hand through his hair, not quite meeting Jaskier’s eye, “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to lose you. I thought that…I was protecting you but I…it was more about me. Protecting myself. I was…I was a coward. Selfish. I could’ve told you and risked losing you, or kept it hidden and hope you never found out. Out of two awful choices, I thought I’d picked the lesser evil. But I was wrong. And I’m so sorry Jaskier. I’m so sorry.”

His voice broke and he hung his head, trying to swallow the tears threatening to spill down his face.

Geralt felt a bandaged hand come to rest on top of his own where it gripped tightly to his knee. He frowned as those warm fingers closed over his own, lacing them together and giving them a gentle squeeze.

“You’re an idiot Geralt,” Jaskier hummed, voice soft and reedy.

Geralt peered up at him, confusion furrowing his brow.

“And I forgive you,” the earnest in his expression, the affection dancing in those blue eyes, Geralt had to choke back a sob.

“But I don’t deserve-“

“No. None of that. You made a mistake. Actually, you made a few mistakes, but you are human Geralt, just like the rest of us. I’m not exactly a saint either,” a smile played on Jaskier’s lips and Geralt felt the weight he had been carrying around start to lift.

“When we get to Kingston-“ Geralt grumbled.

“We’ll restock supplies, fix the sails up, carry out our business with Yennefer, and then we’ll set sail again,” Jaskier narrowed his eyes at him.

“We?”

“Yes, we,” the young man said firmly.

“I wasn’t sure if…you’d still want me around,” Geralt mumbled.

“My life would be infinitely more boring if you weren’t in it,” Jaskier smirked at him, then became more serious, soft and steady, “When I was standing there on that scaffold, knowing I was about to die, the only thing I could think was how much I wanted to see you one last time. I felt like a fool. That’s not something I should have wanted. You hurt me Geralt, but after everything, I still found myself needing you. And then there you were, and you were there to watch me die, and I never imagined that it was possible to feel even more pain. I barely remember what happened next, but I do remember looking up into your face and feeling suddenly safe. Feeling everything else melt away because you were there, and you were holding me.”

Jaskier swallowed painfully, darting his tongue across his lips as he shifted against the pillows.

“I do want you Geralt. More than anything. I need you. I…love you.”

Geralt tightened his grip of Jaskier’s hand, his stomach doing flips, his heart fluttering in his chest. A warmth spread through him, tingling along every nerve, heating up his very core.

“I love you too. Jaskier, I love you so much,” he almost wailed.

Jaskier’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears and a wide smile lit up his face. Blue and amber connected in a long moment of giddy happiness, and then Geralt remembered something.

“I uh…I wrote you something. A, um, a song. Or. Well. A few lines,” he let go of Jaskier’s hand and rummaged around in his pocket.

Jaskier leaned forward slightly as Geralt produced a small scrap of paper, curiosity and delight radiating from him.

“It’s uh… I wrote it a few days ago because I... I wanted to at least try for someone I love, and I didn’t know if I’d ever get to share it with you,” Geralt fumbled, his rising embarrassment reddening his cheeks.

Jaskier twitched with eagerness, inviting Geralt to keep going.

Geralt cleared his throat, glued his eyes to the scrawled lyrics and started to sing.

“I never knew what I was missing, until I joined your crew.  
You showed me I was more than what I thought I knew.  
I never thought I could love you like the way I do.  
And I wouldn’t be me without you.”

Geralt chewed the inside of his cheek, glancing up at Jaskier.

“Geralt. That was…” the young man was practically shaking with contained glee.

“Shit,” Geralt grunted.

“Terrible, awful,” Jaskier cracked with laughter, “I love it.”

Even though he still sounded hoarse, that laughter was such a good, rich sound, and it had Geralt grinning.

“Oh, you and me writing songs together? We would be unstoppable,” Jaskier wiped at his eyes as he tried to control his sniggers, one hand clamped over his ribs as his snatched breaths caused him pain.

Geralt jolted with concern but Jaskier waved him away, settling back into the pillows as he calmed down.

Jaskier stared up at the roof for a moment as his hand found Geralt’s again and Geralt took it in both hands and pressed a light kiss to Jaskier’s knuckles.

“I know that I fucked up royally,” Geralt rested his chin against Jaskier’s fingers and Jaskier hummed in agreement, blue eyes flicking back to look at him, “But I am going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I love you and I want to be with you, but I know that you’ll need time to…to trust me again and I’m not expecting it to happen overnight. We can take this as slowly as you need. I understand.”

Jaskier gazed at him with those beautiful blue eyes, a whine sounding in his throat.

“Can we just skip the awkward tiptoeing around each other stage? Can you just be kissing me now? Please?” he whimpered.

Geralt didn’t need telling twice. Heart in his mouth, heat in his gut, he leaned over the bed and captured Jaskier’s lips with his own. 

He cupped Jaskier’s right cheek gently, thumb just grazing under the fresh scar, as their mouths moved together. Jaskier’s hands found their way to the back of his neck and he clung to Geralt as he returned the kiss eagerly.

A soft moan fell from Jaskier as Geralt deepened the kiss, breeching the young man’s lips with his tongue and pressing him back into the pillows as he relished in him. Jaskier tasted hot and like whatever herbal remedy he had last been given by the doctor. Geralt growled deep in his throat as Jaskier gave his hair a gentle tug.

He never thought he would get to do this again and he focused on every single detail. The way Jaskier felt, the way he moved, the little noises escaping him with every chaste glide of lips on lips, how his fingers curled into his hair, the heat emanating from his skin.

Geralt broke the kiss first, burying his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck and just breathing him in. 

He felt Jaskier tugging at him and he let himself be pulled onto the bed. Jaskier wriggled and shifted, beings careful of his injuries, making space for Geralt next to him and once he was settled, he tucked himself against Geralt’s chest, pressing his nose into Geralt’s jawline.

Geralt tenderly wrapped his arms around Jaskier and held him close.

The dizzying joy and comfort thrilling though him made him want to weep. Everything he had been holding onto, all the pain and uncertainty and guilt and fear, he finally let it go. He was safe and loved and wanted, and he had something he never ever thought he could have.

As they held each other, comfortable and content, they talked. About many things.

Geralt told Jaskier a bit about his upbringing and training with the Brotherhood, telling him about Eskel and hoping that one day he could introduce him. Jaskier spoke a little more about his own family and admitted to even missing them sometimes.

They talked about their business with The Lodge, Geralt voicing his concerns about how he didn’t know what had happened to Triss Merigold. They talked about hunting down the next slaver ship. They talked about really sticking it to Foltest and expanding their crew to a small fleet of ships so that they could start picking on the plantations and liberating slaves as they went. They talked about the idea of going to the coast again. Any coast. It didn’t matter. They talked about the possibility of going back for Ciri in a few years’ time, to see if she still wanted to join them. They talked about what kind of future they might have together in this line of work. 

Open and honest and raw and vulnerable. Gentle and tender and soft and kind. Passionate and resolved and determined and hopeful.

They talked for hours until Geralt could feel the heat of the day retreating with the sun and the slowing of Jaskier’s breathing as he drifted off to sleep. 

And he just knew. Knew that somehow, whatever the future held, everything was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe come speak to me on tumblr?
> 
> don't-tempt-me-frodo


End file.
